


leave my heart open

by temerity (forsanethaec)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Coming Out, First Time, M/M, Mullingar, Pining, Recreational Alcohol/Drug Use, Sexual crisis, Take Me Home Tour, break-up, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:58:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1202074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsanethaec/pseuds/temerity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of TMH tour, Niall falls in love with Louis and figures himself out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	leave my heart open

**Author's Note:**

  * For [balefully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/balefully/gifts).



> first things first: art! i'm so lucky to have a beautiful mix for this fic, made by [tiffany](http://sunshineflying.tumblr.com/). listen and download [here](http://flying-graphics.livejournal.com/28164.html). it's so pretty and wonderful and so is she and you should listen while you read!!!
> 
> so once upon a time in gchat, [lucy](http://psycholinguistic.tumblr.com/) and i planned out our dream non-AU niall-centric nouis epic, and then i promised to actually write it, and now millions of years later here we are. this fic truly would not have happened without her editing and plotting and keeping me going every step of the way, even while i took a break in the middle to move 4,200 miles around the world. i love you luc and i hope this makes you happy!! huge thanks also to [greta](http://dangerbears.tumblr.com/) for being amazing and to arielle and my two roommates i've had while writing this for listening to me whine about it nonstop since like september. one of you isn't even into fanfiction and the [other](http://screwfriends.tumblr.com/) owes me $5. <3
> 
> other shit: this is set during TMH australia and onward, so like fall 2013, with obvious liberties taken. title is from SOML (niall's verse in spirit). [this](http://psycholinguistic.tumblr.com/post/66511785895/because-heres-the-thing-about-realizing-youre) heather hogan quote was something of an inspiration for the whole thing. and lastly, this is literally so fictional i can't even explain it to you. nothing is real. i am not real. yay.

It’s weird when they come back from break, but only for a little while. There’s always an awkwardness at first in seeing each other again, like they aren’t made to be separated, their edges gone all mismatched in the interim. But they slide into place in short order once they’re locked back up together and asked to do their jobs.

Niall’s been in Australia for the longest of any of them, watching everyone’s lives get intensely crazy – or at least crazier – from the other side of the world. Liam and Andy and the fire, and Louis splashed across the sport headlines. Not their usual mayhem.

“Is it just me, or did a lot more shit go down since the last time I saw you boys than normal?” he asks at rehearsal, trying for some laughs. He gets one from Liam, which is good, and a sniffle and a huff from Louis, which is to be expected. Harry and Zayn flash smiles down at their phones. Niall wasn’t really talking about them.

Liam spends a lot of time off to the side phoning Andy and his mum and such, and Niall tries to act deeply normal for him, figures there’s not much more he can do than be there. He winds up focusing on Louis more. Like that’s anything new. 

“How’s that leg, chief?” he asks him while they’re cavorting around inside the arena, Louis bundled up in grey, Niall in his knee braces.

Louis smiles lightly. “Alright. How are yours?” He aims a kick of his football between Niall’s legs. Niall bends to catch it, feeling the strain in his knees, and chucks it back. He flashes a cartoon grin.

“Never better,” he says, and he’s pleased to see Louis’ eyes crinkling.

Onstage in Adelaide takes them straight back to old tricks. It feels amazing.

“I haven’t seen you in a few weeks,” he tells Louis at the start of the show. “It’s been… I was lost without you boys.” His voice actually cracks a couple of times as he says it, but it’s all part of the effect. Louis slings an arm around his back and Niall does the same, and they beam out at the screaming arena.

After, they're drunk on one of the tour buses before they go into the hotel, a ceremonial exercise that's amounted to sitting around shooting the shit about their past few weeks.

“What’s Niall been up to,” Harry asks, reaching out with his foot to poke Niall in the shin. “How was your birthday?”

“Eh.” Niall slugs back some of his drink, which is rum-based and that’s about all he’s certain of. “Fun, yeah. I’ve been hanging out with Deo mostly, doing family shit.”

“Mr. Low Profile over here,” Louis says from the opposite couch. He’s sunk down and smirking with his chin on his chest.

“I like a quiet life,” Niall says expansively. “Unlike that Harry Styles.” He tosses a bottlecap Harry’s way.

“Yeah, mate, saw you in the Sun about every day we were off,” Zayn laughs, and the conversation moves on. Niall catches Louis’ eye again, though. Louis is still scrutinizing him in the low light, and it makes Niall feel unsteady. Later, when Louis goes outside to smoke a spliff, Niall follows.

Louis is sitting on the ground against the side of the bus, knees drawn up to his chest, leaning over to light the twisted end of the cigarette. The smoke puffs up thick after a moment and he leans back, swallowing it down.

Niall sets down next to him. “Hey,” he says, grinning crookedly. He accepts the offer of a toke, pinching the joint inexpertly between his fingers. Louis exhales his hit into the night with his chin tipped up.

"What's up, bro?" he asks once Niall's finished. Niall blows the smoke out in a long stream, watching it dissipate, then leans back to glance over Louis' face.

"Nothing." He shrugs. "How're you? Been a while."

"Has been, innit," Louis says, low.

Niall's been thinking about how he'll say this, but once he opens his mouth his planning goes to shit. "Sorry I couldn't make the charity match," he blurts.

Louis laughs, mouthing at the end of his joint. "What?" he asks, gasping out smoke. "Don't be. You didn't miss anything."

"Nah, I would've come. Don't be stupid." Niall fiddles with the drawstring of his trackies. He takes the spliff back from Louis and ashes it onto the ground between them. 

There's a little crease between Louis' eyebrows as he mumbles, "Feels like a while ago now, man." Niall can't tell if that's true or not. If he knows Louis at all, he's still thinking about it like it was yesterday. 

"What'd you do the rest of the time?"

"Laid low," Louis says. "You know. Just hung out with my family and El and stuff." 

"And your big bad knee's okay, for real, yeah?" Niall jostles it where Louis has it crooked up in front of him and Louis flinches away, giggling low and rough.

"I bet it's already better than yours," Louis snickers.

"Oh, we having a competition now?" 

"Yeah," Louis says dreamily. "No, it was good to have the girls all 'round, though," he says, and Niall would believe him, but there's something off about his voice.

"Was it?" he asks gently. It feels nice to be a little stoned and talking to Louis like this, amid the odd, backwards security of being back on tour for a while. He's missed it.

"It was good," Louis sighs, "yeah, just, like... they don't quite get it, you know? I love 'em. But they don't quite get what it's like."

"What what's like?"

Louis frowns at him.

"I don't know," he says. "Embarrassing yourself like that." His mouth ducks down. "Felt like a bit of a joke after, if I'm honest. And, like, they get that, but they don't _really_ know." He looks at Niall, and Niall hears what he isn't saying – _not like you boys do._

He nudges his shoulder against Louis', feeling warm. "You aren't a joke, Tommo."

Louis' mouth ticks up at the corner, eyes bloodshot and hooded. "You weren't there, Neil."

He offers Niall the spliff again, but Niall waves him off. He's wondering now if he shouldn't have asked about it. It's always hard to tell when's the right time to get real with Louis like this. Niall's never afraid of trying, but it doesn't always go over well. Louis is so unpredictable. But it's so worth it to manage to cheer him up.

"Well, hey," he says, chucking Louis on the arm, "anytime you want to have a kick-about, if you throw up on me, I promise I won't get mad."

It startles a laugh out of Louis, mid-toke. "You're a pal."

"I mean it," Niall says, grinning. "I threw up on my shoes just laughing with Deo the other day. Literally, just – threw up out of nowhere." Anything to make Louis laugh, not that he's got any shame about it anyway. "So, you know, I'm game."

Louis can't stop giggling, puffing his hit out in little bursts. He tosses an arm around Niall's shoulders. "So how was your time in Australia, then, you international man of mystery?"

"It really was chill," Niall says, settling absently against Louis' side. It's just a little cool out and he's only in a t-shirt, and Louis is warm in a hoodie he probably nicked from Zayn. "Hung out with my cousins, fucked around, you know."

"Did you end up going to that Ellie Goulding show?" Louis tugs at him, eyebrows waggling on his stoned face. " _If_ you know what I mean?"

Niall laughs. "I did go, but I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Come on, yes you do. We've all heard the _rumors_." 

Louis is joking around, but Niall does know what he means. Rumors about all the women he may or may not be sleeping with are the bane of his existence. He tries to feel complimented that Louis would think any of them were true. 

"Don't be such a gentleman," Louis says. "Let's have it."

"Nothing to have," Niall mutters, flushing beneath the tightening brace of Louis' arm around his neck. "I didn't... we hung out after the show a bit, but nothing, like, happened." It feels absurd to even have to say, and he shrugs, quick. 

"That sucks, man," Louis says, looking at him close with his mouth turned down.

Part of Niall wishes they weren't talking about this, and a part of that part feels even worse telling Louis, for some reason. Usually, it's not Louis who asks.

"I like her," Niall says. "She's a great girl. I just…" He waves his hands vaguely. "I don't really see her like that, you know? But I kinda felt like it would be weirder if I didn't go, if I'm honest."

Louis shrugs. "Well, we need to find you a bird, mate." He pulls Niall in and gives him a noogie, which Niall does nothing to prevent. Louis is definitely more stoned than he is. 

"Dunno," Niall mumbles. "I don't feel like I really need one. Not a girlfriend, at least, not like you lads." He thinks about it as the words come out, checking if he's being honest. It seems like part of the truth, at least. "I'm okay how I am. Don't know if I care much about figuring that shit out."

"That shit," Louis parrots. He blinks slow, grinning. "It's not like it's how to do your taxes, Nialler."

Niall laughs. "Fuck off."

"Hey, I get it," Louis says with an earnestness he only has while high. "You know, just, we're here if you need us."

"Thanks, man." Niall’s still squidged up awkwardly against Louis' side. Louis acts so tall around him. He seems like he acts the oldest with Niall of any of them, even when they're being idiots as a pair onstage. Or maybe it's Niall just feels younger with Louis. After a moment he adds, "I like this. Like, talking to you about stuff like this."

Louis smiles into the side of Niall's head. "Ah, listen to you," he says. "Alright, then. Up, up, let's see what these others fools are doing."

Niall's knees are wobbly when he stands. Louis seems to be walking fine, though, as he leads the way back onto the bus.

*

The thing with Louis is that Niall looked up somewhere early on in the tour and realized that they'd become friends. Not like they had been - like, more. He tries not to be surprised by it, but every time Louis singles him out to play a trick or looks over everyone else's heads to share a laugh with him, on-stage or off, he still gets this pleased feeling, like he's won some kind of contest. Louis is careful with his affections and his partnering in crime. He has plenty of both to give, but Niall's always gotten the sense you have to earn them, and he's never been even close to first in line until now.

It's half for show, the way he is with Louis during concerts. They know the fans love it, and it comes easy as anything. Niall wonders if Louis knows how genuine he's being when he laughs his arse off at their little interview stunts or a lyric change he's heard a hundred times already. And it's fun, too, the stuff he gets to do with everyone else, but it's not quite the same as it is with Louis.

Maybe it's that, then, the increased exposure, the way he and Louis have things together now, how they look for each other. The first time an interviewer makes a comment about the two of them getting closer, Niall feels himself go red.

"Yeah, we've been having fun," Louis quips, winking at him. "But really, now, what's not to love about this lad?" Niall grins and tips back in his chair and can't think of anything he feels like adding.

*

Zayn wants another tattoo after a show in Sydney, all wiry energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet, so they all go with him. Niall’s not been in a tattoo parlor in a long time. The ones they go to are cool, usually, open late with plenty of booze for those not getting inked. Louis and Liam scamper over to the artist’s space with Zayn, chattering about the tiger he’s getting, bumping each other around.

Niall collapses on the couch with Harry and accepts what appears to be a Long Island from an assistant type of girl. She’s got dark hair piled up on top of her head and leopard spots scattered across her temple. Niall listens to Harry politely chatting her up, grinning. She bends over them, and he can see down her top, more ink dipping into her cleavage. She winks at him as she turns to go.

“Get it in, eh, Nialler,” Harry mutters, leaning in to whisper close in his ear even though it doesn’t matter who hears them.

“You get it in,” Niall mutters back, mouthing at the straw in his drink. He’s in an odd, detached place between wiped-out exhausted and bursting with post-show high, the hot current of it still running close up beneath his skin. He watches the other three across the room while he sips his drink. Zayn and Louis are looking over designs on the wall while Liam chats to the tattoo artist, a tall, lean dude with a full sleeve of almost solid black.

“Reckon Liam’ll get another one?” he asks. Harry’s texting or something now. He looks up.

“Huh?”

“Who’re you texting at midnight Australia time?”

Harry frowns. “It’s still daytime where all the rest of our friends are.”

Niall chuckles.

“Alright, lads?” Louis has appeared out of nowhere, flinging himself down on Niall’s side opposite Harry. Harry twitches a smile in the corner of his mouth in greeting, still hunched over his phone.

Louis is snugged up close to Niall, one of his knees almost over Niall’s thigh, a careless arm around his shoulders. Niall feels distinctly weird. He likes seeing Louis in his element like this, likes seeing all of them careless and bright in a dark tattoo parlor after hours like proper rock stars. But somehow he feels out of place. He’s not as loose in his own skin as the others, flirting with the staff girls, acting like he belongs doing this type of shit.

“You’re rather tense,” Louis says into his neck. Niall can feel the teeth in his grin, and he suppresses a shiver. He’s watching Zayn and Liam argue about which way the tiger’s tail should go.

“You gonna get another one, eh?” he asks, turning his head in the close quarters so that his nose brushes Louis’ forehead.

Louis stays still for a moment, looking up at Niall through his lashes. Their faces are an inch apart, and suddenly Niall isn't breathing.

Then Louis draws back. He smells rough from the stage, his hair all over the place. “One what?”

“Tattoo, stupid.”

“Ah.” Louis stretches luxuriously and steals Niall’s drink for a long pull. Niall watches him do it, smiling hazily. “Nah, not today. Got nothing in mind.”

“Alright, we need a tie-breaker.” Liam’s stood in front of them now with his hands on his hips, while Zayn fidgets impatiently next to him. “Tail left or right?”

“Left,” Louis says. “Obviously.”

Niall glances at the sketch they’re holding up. “I’m with Tommo here,” he says. “Who’s saying right?”

“I am,” Liam grumbles. “What about Harry, eh?”

“It’s already gonna be three to two, mate!” Zayn says, tugging on Liam’s elbow.

Harry looks up. “What?”

“Tail to the right, don’t you think, Haz?”

“Leading the witness!” Louis points out. Niall snorts.

Harry frowns, leaning forward. “It looks weird,” he says. “Is it going next to Perrie? Wait, Zayn’s right or our right?”

“He’s hopeless,” Zayn says, grinning at Harry. “Come on, Li, it’s my tattoo.”

“What a diva,” Liam states theatrically to the room at large, but he lets Zayn lead him back over to the chair where the artist is already setting up his ink. Louis pulls a face at Niall and Harry before launching off the couch too.

The buzzing starts up just as Niall gets to the bottom of his glass. Louis is hunched up on Zayn’s left, watching closely. He looks up as Niall studies them, flashing a smile just for him. Niall wants it to be the Long Island that sends that little fizz of warmth through his chest then, but it definitely isn’t.

“Bored!” Harry announces, making Niall start. “C’mon, let’s Instagram something that no one'll be able to tell what it is.”

Niall snickers. “Lemme get us another drink.”

He goes and finds the girl with the leopard spots at the bar in the back. “Hey,” he says. “What was that you made me before? A Long Island?”

She gives him a big smile. “My specialty,” she says. “You want another?”

“Two, please. Hey, I like your spots,” he says as she starts to mix the drinks. He touches his own temple.

“Thanks.” She winks so that the tattoo crinkles. “Aren’t you getting inked, babe?”

“Nah,” he says. “Not my thing.”

She leans across the bar to give him the drinks, and he feels her fingers brush against his. “You come and see me if you ever want one,” she says.

He grins sideways at her. “Yeah, will do.”

“You’re a proper flirt,” Harry mutters to him when Niall gets back with the drinks.

Niall shrugs him off. “Just doing my part.” 

Harry laughs, shaking his head. 

Niall follows Harry over to some weird-looking plants on a side table, thinking, absently, about whether he’d like to sleep with leopard girl or if it’s all just a game. He glances across the room to where Zayn’s got his lower lip pulled into his mouth, eyes fixed on his own bicep as the ink etches in. Louis is chatting away in his ear, probably trying to distract him. Liam’s now talking to leopard girl at the bar while she makes him a drink, too. Niall’s already forgotten what he even said to her.

“I just open my mouth and shit comes out,” he tells Harry, stirring his drink with its straw.

“What?”

“That’s my master flirting technique.” Bless Harry, but he can be fucking slow sometimes.

“Okay,” Harry draws out, grinning. “Cool, mate. Get down by that cactus there and let me take your picture for the internet.”

Niall does so, flashing a double thumbs up and a ridiculous grin while Harry snaps his photo. 

"She's hot, though," Harry says, thumbing through Instagram filters. "Got that Kat von D thing going on, doesn't she." 

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Hey, man, no shame in making that happen," Harry says. He waggles his tongue and Niall snickers, turning away. "She obviously wants it." 

"Dunno," Niall says. "Not sure I really laid the groundwork."

Harry frowns, clearly baffled by this concept. "You're something else, Nialler," he says, clapping him on the shoulder before going back to tapping out some kind of ridiculous cactus pun in the caption of his tweet. Niall watches absently, thinking that Harry must consider him a bit of a lost cause. It's okay, though. He's good like this.

The three around the artist's chair are still distracted the next time he tries to catch their eye. Niall feels somewhat drunk and a little at sea, not sure who to talk to. He knows who he'd _like_ to talk to, but that person is occupied with his cooler, more tattooed bandmates, his preferred best friends du jour. 

Niall knows Louis will get back around to him eventually. He's mostly willing to be patient. 

*

Niall wakes up the next day, a show day, with an emotional hangover he doesn't feel as though he deserves. He retraces his steps through the night before, trying to find the source of it. 

He hadn't wanted to sleep with that girl. Face tattoos, fuck, what had her name been? They'd not been properly introduced. And Harry had thought Niall wanted to sleep with her. It's so weird, that expectation. 

There's something uncomfortable churning in his gut as he tries to think about how it could have been different. What would have made him want it? If he'd known her, or if she'd looked different, or if they'd been somewhere else? If she'd been someone else – older? Younger? And he doesn't want to think it, but it comes anyway: What if she'd been a boy? 

Niall tries to chalk it up to sex being sex, to being 19 and hashtag YOLO and nothing matters anyway. But he can't remember the last time he wanted to sleep with a girl. The idea is like a joke to him – has always been a joke, that he can be as free with his love as he is and still be the one who gets laid the least. 

He pulls the covers all the way up over his face and squeezes his eyes shut, scrolling mentally through his drunk memories of last night,. 

It almost feels malicious, how quickly Louis has become this insistent in his own head. His face is seared into every frame of recollection: cavorting with Louis on B stage. Louis against his side on the couch at the tattoo parlor. Louis looking at him from across the room. And the pull of that moment where Louis had looked at him, and everything had gone still, and Niall had wanted – he’d _wanted_. To move, to do something. 

Maybe to kiss him.

It's that latent, harmless sort of want that he recognizes, but gone all wrong. With Louis it feels urgent; it twists and preoccupies. That doesn't seem normal. That seems dangerous, like it's out of Niall's control. Like it could hurt someone. 

And he's suddenly so frustrated at himself for how Louis' name has taken on this whole other meaning in his mind. It's Louis, for Christ's sake, bandmate-brother Louis who's been in Niall's life with all the rest for three years, who knows Niall like practically nobody else, along with the other three. _Along with the other three_ – Niall has to keep saying it or he'll go mad. It has to be a lads feeling. A mates feeling. Otherwise he's ruined. He doesn't know what he's going to do.

The air is growing stale under the sheets, and Niall pokes his head out into the air-conditioned cool for a moment, gulping a breath, before retreating. He wants to curl up in a ball and be unconscious for a hundred years. He wants to stay here in this little cave until somehow this all just goes away.

*

It’s still in the back of his head on stage that night. The flip of his stomach every time he sees Louis gravitating toward him, how it’s impossible not to laugh at even the stupidest of his jokes, how he makes Niall feel good and ridiculous and appreciated with just a look. And that little sense of loss, familiar but still sad, when Louis leaves his side at the end of one of their choreographed bits. He wants Louis close all the time.

The preoccupation has crawled into his brain within hours and won't get out. He can't stop imagining the idea of feeling the way for anyone the way he thinks Zayn must feel for Perrie, or – and it makes his stomach twist, incorrigibly – Louis for Eleanor. He'd never realized how much different that feeling could be than things he understands. 

It's a big stage, even for five, and it's weird sometimes to look around and realize how much larger than life they've become. Niall feels just the size he is in all that space, but he knows he's more than that. He's a point so big and bright and quick he's almost hard to keep your eyes on, and he's part of a whole: Harry dropping to his knees with his arms spread like a sacrifice to the rock gods, and Liam and Zayn nailing a perfect harmony from opposite ends of the set, so clear it gives Niall chills when he's not even paying attention. And then there's Louis. On the lift with his fist in the air, his voice never so strong as when he's shouting to a crowd of tens of thousands, "Melbourne, make some noise!"

Niall stops to look when Louis does that, like he always does, amid the screams swelling and whoever's got the next line carrying on. It's impossible _not_ to look at him. They're all star-bright and shining when they're up there together, but Louis is like the burning center of their orbit.

At least that's how Niall feels alongside him. Like no matter where he is on stage or who he's messing with, there's a tug of gravity that he's fighting against – a tug into the littlest boy, the littlest voice, the one of them who burns the brightest of all. 

Usually he doesn't try to stop it happening. There are worse fates than to spend a show, or any time, really, in Louis' shadow. Tonight, though, he feels self-conscious, like he should look away, like everyone can tell. He's not even all that sure what he thinks they'd see, but it's something he ought to keep to himself. 

Niall makes it over to the other side of the stage near Josh, and he listens to the roar of the arena and knows Louis is actually what makes his light shine even brighter. He wonders if Louis has ever felt like that about him – like he's so important, like he's the realest thing in the room. 

They all dash out together under the venue to the buses when the show ends, muffled screams echoing down the passageway, Louis at the front with Liam on his heels, and Niall wants to be up there with him. He wants – God, he wants to _touch_ , just to brush his fingers over Louis’ elbow or something, to have him like that. 

And the craziest part is that he could. It’s just that all of a sudden he’s not sure if he’s allowed, or if it means the same thing to him as it does to Louis, or if everything will still be okay after. He’s scared.

*

The buses roll on through the night and Niall can't sleep. It's like he's seen Louis properly for the first time. He's stuck in a hole in his own thoughts, digging in deeper as he tries to climb out. 

Harry's in the back lounge with the crew, and Zayn, Louis and Liam are being dirty hermits on the other bus per usual, so Niall gets out of bed and pads across to the little bathroom and shuts himself inside. He turns on the light, squinting in the low grey glow, and looks at himself in the mirror.

"You like him," he murmurs, very quietly. It's experimental – to see if it takes. "I like Louis." He swallows thickly.

It's a ridiculous thing. Of course he likes Louis. Of course he _loves_ him. They all do. 

But Niall has been over this with himself a thousand times. He doesn't know what's different for him now, what's changed, what separates that familiar fraternal love from the thing keeping him up at night. It's making him chew his lip raw around Louis, making his chest constrict to even look at him, more and more.

"I'm... falling for him?" he tries. He wants to laugh, this is so ridiculous, but his throat's too tight.

"I'm in love with him," he whispers, and he does laugh then, only it comes out choked and despondent.

It's just that no one told Niall what this would be like. That it would hit him suddenly, without his permission, and only tighten its hold the more he tried to fight it. That it would be so different from how a person is supposed to feel about a friend – not comforting and safe but agonizing, hopeless, gutting.

The worst part is that Louis loves him back, Niall knows he does, but it's not in the way he wants. It's terrible to be caught on the brink of it. And he feels so selfish wanting more from Louis when he's so lucky to have any of him at all. He wants to cry.

And there's Eleanor, of course. Niall can't even believe this is how it's shaken out. Anyone else – it could have been practically anyone else in the entire world and it would have been better. It could have been a girl.

Niall's gripping the edge of the bathroom counter now, scarcely noticing what his hands are doing. He's never felt more unsteady. He's so afraid of the idea of ruining anything – for the band, for Louis, for their friendship just when it's burgeoned like this. Niall's an idiot. Niall's taken a perfectly stable, normal thing, a good thing, and he's going to send it all to shit.

*

He tells himself he's not going to be weird with Louis the next day. 

"Alright, Niall?" Louis asks, prone on a couch in the green room at their next stop with a mug of tea balanced on his chest. 

"Never better," Niall says. He glances at Louis once, perfunctory, and then again for longer when he sees his eyes are closed. Harry's trying to get them both to help with the crossword in a months-old Swedish newspaper he found in his luggage, and he tugs at Niall's sleeve, pointing.

"What's that word there?"

"Man, I told you, the only Swedish I know is 'meatball.'"

"Okay, what's 'meatball,' then?"

"Köttbulle."

"Cool." Harry finds a nine-letter space and scribbles it down without reading the clue.

"Niall," Louis says suddenly, "did you know 'hora' means 'whore' in Swedish?" He cracks a lewd grin without opening his eyes. "I read that on the Internet."

Niall laughs. "Yeah, yeah, go on. Write that one down, Harry." 

Harry chews on the end of his pen, considering his options. 

"You're gonna get a tea ring on your shirt, Louis," Niall says. 

Louis shrugs, careful, like he's trying not to spill, and then he opens his eyes and sits up, sighing. "Reckon I should drink it, then." 

Niall grins at him. He's all tousled and under-caffeinated and there are still sleep-lines on his soft face and it's impossible not to grin when Niall looks at him, even when looking at him today also feels a bit like dying or being punched repeatedly in the stomach. That's something Niall expects he'll get used to. Maybe this won't be so hard. 

Louis blinks slowly at him, and then at Harry poring over his crossword. He purses his lips around a sip of tea. "You two are weird," he says. "Wanna have a kick-about on stage, Niall?"

"Fuck yes," Niall says, leaping up. Louis looks sort of amused. 

"Calm down, darling," he says, and it makes Niall's stomach flutter and his cheeks go pink. "Hang on a minute, let me find my shoes."

"Hey," Harry says once Louis is gone, "you said you'd help me with this."

"Meatball, meatball," Niall says. "That's all I've got for you." He feels bad, though. He doesn't mean to prioritize – it's just that Louis' attention is so much harder to come by than Harry's, lately, and he doesn't want to let go of it when he's got it. "Come sit on the steps and shout out the clues while we play."

"They're all in Swedish anyway," Harry sighs, folding up his paper like this hasn't been the problem the whole time. "I'll meet you out there." 

Niall's alone in the room for a few seconds too long. He's still grinning, and then it turns pained, and then he's panicking slightly. It was so easy to pretend nothing was different with Louis. Only things _are_ different. Niall can't look at him now without his heart pounding extra fast. It's like it was always there, but now that he's acknowledged it, it thinks it has free reign of his entire life. Typical Louis. 

But if he can act like that and still have all that in him – how does it ever get fixed? He can't tell Louis. He can't tell anyone. Louis has a girlfriend, and anyway it's not a fucking option. 

Niall hates hiding things. He doesn't want to be good at that. He wishes Louis could know without Niall ever having to tell him. 

All this confusion snarling up high and tight in his chest is making him feel a little hysterical, and he has to breathe deep for a few moments. He thinks of the new trick with the football he wants to show Louis, thinks of fancy footwork and sharp little kicks and the elegant way Louis drops his hips when he's passing. 

It doesn't make him feel better, exactly. Just a different kind of worse, one he thinks he can probably survive. 

*

The problem is, it doesn't get better. Niall only realizes he was expecting it to go away when he looks up two dates before the end of Australia and finds he's totally lost his mind. He's spending every second of his life with Louis, and now when he laughs too loud he has to glance around after, furtive, wondering if anyone noticed. Of course they noticed, but none of the others think it's weird. It's just Niall who's making it like that. 

Eleanor comes to visit, and Niall learns that jealousy isn't a good look on him. He tries not to let it show how it gets him down, watching Louis and Zayn sneaking around with her outside the venues, all but ignoring everyone else. Liam and Harry are blessedly oblivious, or at least Niall's pretty sure they are. They have each other to fall back on, anyway, when they're bored and Louis and Zayn are being cliquey. Niall doesn't want to have to fall back on anyone. He winds up with the crew more than usual, or alone, just because he's feeling sorry for himself. 

It's weird, because when he first started thinking like this about Louis, he was still happy. Having shit going on in your life when you're happy is like an offense or an inconvenience. It's not something that winds up sticking. Niall's always been so good at staying happy as a latent state, even through highs and lows. 

He's starting to cherish the hurt that comes with Louis now. Whether Louis looks at him or doesn't, when he laughs at Niall's jokes or when he ignores him, it all hurts the same, like that's Niall's state of being, like that's what he understands.

On one of many nights when he could just as easily be over at Harry's room doing something stupid or playing Left 4 Dead with Liam or whatever, Niall is alone in his suite on the couch, picking at the remains of an absurd amount of room service and trying to compose a tweet. He'd been reading football stats and thought of Louis. He could have been tweeting about anything and thought of Louis, but football was a particularly easy target. They usually catch up on the newest games together. Louis' been distracted with El here. 

Niall wants to mention Louis in the tweet he's composing about Derby, but he thinks that'll seem desperate somehow. But if he doesn't tweet it with his name and Louis doesn't see it or doesn't care, then it'll be even worse. Or what if Louis sees it and wants to know why Niall hadn't wanted to include him on the conversation? It's literally the most ridiculous fucking thing to overanalyze and Niall is a 12-year-old girl who deserves nothing. 

He texts Bressie just to say hey, but doesn't get a response, and then he's out of things to do that aren't sending this fucking tweet. He's been waffling for 20 minutes over whether to mention his bandmate in a bit of Twitter bullshit about Derby's defense this season. _Just fucking do it already._

He wedges Louis' handle in at the end and posts it and drops his phone on his bed.

The most absurd part is that Louis is down the hall with Eleanor. They're probably fucking. Niall is aware of this, but he's trying not to think about it; they all live in such close quarters that it's not much of a stretch of the imagination to picture how Louis fucks. The curves of him. His arse, especially – sweat on his back – and the sounds he'd make… Niall shakes himself. He really, really doesn't want to go down that road. At least not tonight.

He thinks Louis probably has his phone on silent, anyway. He'll see the tweet in the morning and probably make some crack to Niall in person about how that's it, he's off to training camp and the Rovers are going all the way this season, and that'll be one more day of Niall's life where Louis doesn't realize that a late-night down-the-hall football tweet actually means, "I love you the most, please have sex with me." 

There's a knock on his door as he stews in this, startling him. He gets up and looks through the peephole and his heart jumps into his throat. 

"You could have just come got me if you wanted to chat," Louis says, smiling slyly. He looks loose and warm and happy. He obviously just got laid. Niall's jealous and embarrassed and everything bad in the world rolled up inside a sense of helpless gratitude that he gets to even look at Louis like this. It feels private, like a privilege. He looks so fucking good, and this is a version of himself no one – or hardly anyone else – ever gets to see. 

"Hey," Niall says, and he finds that it's no effort to grin. "Sorry I was being weird. I figured you wouldn't see it 'til tomorrow." 

"Eleanor's asleep," Louis says easily. Niall manages not to flinch. "Lemme in, then."

Louis fucked his girlfriend and got a notification from Niall on his phone and left her in bed and came to say hi. This is normal lads behavior. Everything is cool. Niall stands back and shuts the door behind him. 

"You're being a bit of an insomniac," Louis observes, looking over the carnage of room service and boredom that is the sitting room of his suite. The TV is on, playing This Is The End at low volume. Louis sits down on the couch and starts picking at the remnants of an order of steak and chips. 

Niall settles down next to him, not sure how much space to put between them. Another thing he never would have second-guessed a few months ago. Louis looks at him. 

"What's up, then?"

"Nothing. What's up with you?"

"Nothing," Louis says, grinning. "So you're just in here – what, eating chips, tweeting about football, thinking of me." 

"The same thing I do every night, Pinky," Niall says. He tries not to think about the warmth in his cheeks.

"You're Pinky," Louis says sternly, pointing a chip at Niall's nose. Niall bites it away from him. "I'm the Brain." 

"Yeah," Niall can't stop smiling. "Okay." 

"Turn that up," Louis says, pointing to the TV. It's the part where Emma Watson steals all their food. "God, she's hot in this movie."

"Yeah, I love a girl wielding an axe."

Louis laughs. "Me too, man." He picks up two more chips, and holds one out to Niall, looking into his eyes. Niall hesitates this time before he lets Louis feed it to him. He's not sure what's happening right now.

Louis looks back at the telly. Niall fidgets, watching his profile. "So is Eleanor just…?"

"Sleeping," Louis says. "I couldn't. Was wide awake when I saw you tweeting." 

"Must be nice to have her here. I feel like I've barely seen you for a second since she got in." Niall's trying for cheeky, but it falls a little flat. Louis doesn't seem to notice. 

"It is nice." He leans back against the couch, sighing. "Weird, but. I miss her when I'm not there." 

"Weird how?"

Louis shrugs. "I don't know. It just is. Like, it's funny watching our lives overlapping here, instead of how they do the other way 'round when I'm at home with her, I guess." He pats Niall on the knee. "You'll try to have a girlfriend on the road someday, Nialler, and then you'll know." 

Niall feels his fingers itch to grab Louis' hand where it's touching him. "Oughta just date someone who's already on the road with us, innit," he says before he can think twice about it. God, he's a fucking idiot. 

"Yeah, sure," Louis laughs. "Maybe England's most eligible bachelorette, Harry Styles." 

Niall snorts. "That's way too much woman for me." 

"True. Who else, then?"

"What do you mean, 'who else?'"

"Well," Louis shrugs. "Like, what are you looking for, do you think?"

Niall can't stop thinking about how Louis left Eleanor in his bed to come and have this conversation.

"I don't know," he says. "I think…"

_I think I actually do want to try dating a dude._

It would be so easy to say it. Louis would understand. It could be fine.

"I just want someone I'd be friends with, you know," he says. His voice has gotten smaller. Louis frowns. "Seems like it's not worth it if you aren't friends, too."

"Aw," Louis says. "That's cute, Niall."

Niall makes a pouty face to cover how he's having a minor nervous breakdown inside. 

"And you're friends with everybody," Louis says. He nudges Niall's leg with his bare toes. It's a strangely stilted moment, and he pulls away again quickly, putting the space back between them. "So you'll be okay."

Niall didn't ask if he was going to be okay. He didn't ask for anything from Louis, except things he hasn't said. 

They watch another half hour of the movie without talking or touching much, and Niall's fallen half-asleep when Louis touches him on the arm and says he's going. 

"'Kay," Niall yawns. "See you tomorrow. Thanks for hanging out."

"Don't thank me, _Neil_ ," Louis says. "I like coming 'round. Should it more often."

"Yeah," Niall says. "Anytime."

"G'night, man."

"Night, Lou." 

Niall watches him leave and finishes his movie without paying much attention besides to the Backstreet Boys scene at the end. Then he goes to bed, picturing Louis beside his girlfriend down the hall, wondering who he's thinking of. 

*

Louis comes to see him again the night after Eleanor leaves, in search of some cheering up, but it's not long before the other three troop down to Niall's suite, too, to get Louis drunk and watch shitty Australian TV. It's really nice to have all the lads collected at Niall's for once. For one thing, it spares him the sole responsibility of having to act like he's so happy Louis has a girlfriend and so depressed for him that she's gone. It's not that he dislikes Eleanor, not at all. It's just the idea of her. 

And it's been a long time since Niall played host to a group hang-out. Most nights he has to go looking for the collective, or wait to be texted an invite or whatever. Tonight, Louis' presence is all it takes to attract everyone. 

Louis is a little less mopey once they've gotten a few drinks in him, and he spends most of the night cuddled up to Niall, improbably and wonderfully and horribly. It's obvious that he's realized the two of them could be special friends, the way he goes through phases with liking different people best for different stuff. Niall's his friend for a maybe-serious chat and a chill night in, now. It's lovely, and devastating. 

Niall puts his hand in Louis' hair once Louis is leaning on his thigh, sprawled out across the couch. Zayn's sat a cushion away with Louis' legs over his. Liam and Harry are on the floor, both texting when they're supposed to be manning the telly. Par for the course. 

"Your hair is soft," Niall mutters to Louis under the clamor of Harry and Liam fighting over the remote. Louis looks up. His eyelashes brush up over his brow bone. He's so pretty. Niall wants to make everyone else in the room disappear so he can lean down and kiss Louis just like this, without saying another word. 

"Thanks," Louis says. He's getting sleepy, Niall can tell. "Hurry up, lads, I'm fading here," he says to those in charge of picking a program. 

"I need something really Australian," Zayn says, eyes on his phone atop Louis' calves. "I almost think I'll miss these accents when we're gone again."

"Yeah, but then we'll be in Japan," Liam says. "Japanese telly is the absolute weirdest." 

"Here," Harry says, and puts on a Downton Abbey rerun. Zayn just shakes his head. 

Louis is still blinking up at Niall, slow. "Thanks for hanging out," he murmurs, like Niall had to him the night before. 

Niall scrunches his hand atop Louis' head and looks up, away, because he can't deal with this anymore. "Don't thank me," he mutters, smiling a little. 

"I will if I like," Louis says. Zayn's looking at them both, and Louis meets his eyes and they grin at each other in a way that Niall knows doesn't include him. The moment is over. He turns his eyes back to the TV and focuses on the weight of Louis' head against his legs – holding him down and setting him adrift in one, making him feel low and sad and lost. 

*

They reach Japan and, incredibly, the end of the tour without Niall doing a single goddamn thing. 

Niall thanks them all for such a good run onstage at the last show, and tells them he loves them, and the fans go crazy. He's across from Louis in their group hug and he does love all of them, and he's thinking about that, wild with emotion and the noise of the crowd, but he's also thinking about how this was his and Louis' tour, about how much they've grown together. He looks up and meets Louis' eyes for just a second and Louis flashes a grin that's just for him. Niall files that one away to keep for as long as he can remember it. 

The goodbyes are predictably sappy at the airport before they head off for break. Niall leaves first, and he gets to Louis last in making the rounds with hugs. 

"Stay out of trouble, Tommo," he says. 

"Can't promise anything." Louis grins. "I'll see you soon, bro." 

Niall wants to say something about the past eight months, about hoping this isn't the end of the two of them being like this with each other. He doesn't know how to phrase it without sounding ridiculous. 

"Right," he says. He pulls Louis into a hug, squeezing him tight around the shoulders for just a second. It's over too quickly. "Safe flight, lads."

"Bye, Niall!" they all chorus. Harry waves and waves and waves as Niall picks up his bags. 

He looks back once before he rounds the corner away from them. Louis winks at him. Niall misses him like a fucking limb before he's even taken off. 

*

Absence starts to ease things after a few days. Niall thinks of Louis with such regularity that it's like a tic, but it doesn't hurt quite as much without him right there. At least now there's nothing Niall could do now even if he wanted to, short of getting on a plane. He thinks it's to his credit that he doesn't spend too much time dwelling on that option. 

Louis and all the rest text him every so often. Sometimes they want to know when he'll be in London. Niall doesn't really know the answer, though he spends inordinately more time composing the "idk bro !"s he sends to Louis than to the everyone else. 

He figures he'll wander over to his place there after Theo's christening, or when he gets tired of Mullingar, which doesn't happen quickly. And it's not like Louis is actually trying to make plans; he's the kind of person who will tell you he wants to hang out and then let you do most of the work in making it happen, or at least that's how he is with Niall. 

They're a couple of weeks into it and he's got Darragh over and a beer in his hand and MTV on the telly, when Louis texts him. The little thrill whenever Niall sees his name on the phone is so familiar now he almost doesn’t notice it. Whatever’s doing the thrilling is stupid, anyway. Louis’ name is everywhere, splashed up with Niall’s and the rest whenever he goes online or leaves the house. In Mullingar, a little less so. It’s good to be home.

_Hey mate got time to talk?_

It takes Niall eight or nine read-throughs to decide on the number of exclamation points and the term of endearment for his reply.

_yea buddy ! wat up_

No sooner has the text been marked “delivered” than the phone is ringing in his hand. Niall hadn't been expecting a call. He swallows down the jump of his heart and glances at Darragh, whose eyes are on his own phone, maybe texting Shanon to come over or something. He hits answer.

“Hey, Tommo.”

“Hey, man, you alright?” Louis sounds tired. It's the first time Niall's heard his voice in forever. 

“Can’t complain,” Niall says, shrugging back into the couch. “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing. I’m at my mum’s place.”

“Yeah, cool.” Darragh glances up, and Niall shrugs at him, trying not to make a fool of himself.

“How about you?” Louis asks.

“Chillin’ with Darragh.”

“Cool, mate. Tell him I say hello.”

Niall smiles. “Louis says hi,” he tells Darragh.

“Oi, Tomlinson!” Darragh yells. Louis laughs on the other end of the line, and then there’s silence.

“So – what’s up, Lou?” Niall tries.

“Um, do you have a sec? I’ve got – I fancied a chat.”

Something about Louis’ voice makes Niall catch Darragh's eye again. “Yeah, man. Hang on a sec.” He stands up and heads for his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. “Alright. What’s going on?”

“So… me and Eleanor, we’re – we’ve split up.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Louis drags the word out. Niall’s sat on the edge of his bed, elbows digging into his knees, heart beating rather quickly. Several complicated emotions are twisting together inside him at once. He imagines Louis in the silence on the other end of the call, how his mouth would be that sardonic line it does sometimes, the face he’d be making trying to act tough.

“What, er – how’re you feeling?”

Louis makes a sound like a laugh, but it’s not. “It’s weird,” he says. “I don’t feel like – I don’t know. Not really sure yet, if I’m honest.”

“When did it happen? I mean, _what_ happened?”

“Well, it was mutual, of course.” He does the laugh thing again. Niall wishes he was with him. “That’s what we’ll say, anyway. Really she finished with me, pretty much. Few days after I got back. I think she’d been thinking about it for a while.”

“Shit, man. You two seemed fine in Australia.”

“Yeah. I guess we were. She's been a little… distant or whatever. I don't know."

Silence for a moment. It’s weird to talk to him on the phone. They could be FaceTiming, but he guesses Louis doesn’t want to. Niall wonders how he looks. Bad, maybe. “I’m sorry, Louis,” he says. It’s true, on almost every level. 

“Yeah,” Louis sighs in a whoosh of static. “I guess I just came home and, like, we went back to the same old shit, you know? And she'd come out to see me and all that, but, like. Being back… and us being in between everything, I mean, with next year all planned out, our whole fucking lives planned out, man, I think it just seemed like – ”

He sighs again, short and frustrated. “Like, she said that if she didn’t do it now, she’d end up stuck waiting for me forever. That she was sorry and – and she loved me. Loves me. But she didn’t know what the point was anymore.”

Niall leans forward, drawing in on himself like it’ll help him get closer to Louis. “Oh, man.”

“She’s not wrong, though.”

“How d'you mean?”

“Me and her, it’s just been, like, coasting. For _so_ long, you know, I just wish – I don’t know.”

“Yeah. It’s hard for her, I guess.”

“It’s hard for me, too.”

“I know. I know it is.”

More silence. Niall’s trying not to wonder why Louis called – he’s trying to just let it be what it is. Louis is far away, hurting, and he needs a friend, that’s all. 

“Been a long time,” Niall says after a bit, even though he knows that isn’t helpful.

“I know. Two – two and a half years, like. Crazy, innit.”

“Yeah.”

Louis is quiet for a second. Niall can hear him breathing.

“Kind of a long time to spend with somebody and never get on the same page,” Louis says finally. “Or – like, the right page. Fuck, I don’t know. I mean, we’re on the same page now.”

“What, like you think you get it?”

“Yeah. Yeah. It was just – so stupid how long I’d go without seeing her, and I’d just act like she’d be there every time I got back, all caught up, like, waiting to act like I never left. Like, me expecting her to do that. And then feeling like she was being all distant when she couldn’t do it. And I never knew enough about her life.” A pause, and Niall draws his knees up akimbo beneath him.

“She’s one of my best friends,” Louis says, emphatic, like it’s Niall who needs convincing. “She’s just – I guess we’re just not, like.”

He’s quiet for a long moment.

“Just not meant to last,” he murmurs finally. Niall hardly ever hears him like this, all private and confessional.

“Louis.” He can’t keep his voice from going soft as he says it again. “I’m sorry, mate.”

Louis huffs a laugh. “Yeah. No, I mean, I guess we’d been leading up to it for a while. Like I said. I get what she means.”

“Hey,” Niall says, “if you’re gonna feel good about it, like, down the road, then I’m happy for you. And if you aren’t, then – I’m here for you. Either way.”

“Thank you, Niall,” Louis says. Niall can hear a smile in his voice, and it makes him smile too. “That’s a very nice thing to say.”

“You’ll be alright, you know. Other fish in the sea and all that.”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll get an aquarium.”

Niall laughs, and he can hear Louis laughing too after a moment, quiet and indistinct.

“Well, you’ll find some kind of replacement, eh,” Niall says.

“I miss you,” Louis says abruptly.

Niall’s guard is down, and he takes the full force of the words, right in the chest. It takes a moment to gather his breath. “I miss you too,” he says. “Are you all on your own now?”

“I mean, I think Lottie or someone's downstairs. Mum took the twins to dance class.”

“Have you talked to anyone else?”

“Just her. My mum, I mean. And I’ve told Zayn.” He says it like it's nothing, and Niall hates himself for the pang of jealousy he feels. “But he’s all, like, marital bliss or whatever. He doesn’t quite get it.”

Niall laughs. “Oh, and I do, now?”

“You always get it, Niall.”

And Niall should say something, should laugh him off or be sweet, but he’s smiling too hard to speak. He’s smiling so hard it feels like he’s going to cry.

“Look, hey, are you in Mullingar for a while?” Louis asks after a moment.

Niall clears his throat. “Yeah, why?”

“Can I come and visit?”

“What, here?”

“Yeah, I was thinking of it,” Louis says. “Kind of feel like I need to get away, y’know.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Niall says. He flops back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Louis in his house. Louis has never been here before. “That’d be amazing, Louis.”

“Show me where it all began. The Niall Horan story.”

“We can go to a football match or something, you want to? When do you want to come?” Niall’s torn between dizzy happiness and total emotional collapse. It feels a bit delirious, like having a fever.

Louis is laughing. “I like your enthusiasm, mate. I dunno, I should ask my mum.” They both laugh at that. Niall’s cheered him up. There’s no better feeling in the world than making Louis happy, when he’s down or even when he’s not.

“Come next week,” Niall says. “Come anytime.”

“Yeah, I will do,” Louis says. “Hey, Niall.”

“Yeah, Lou.”

“Thanks, man. For – yeah, talking. Being there.”

“Always, bro,” Niall says. “I’m always here.”

“Alright. I’ll let you know what I’m doing, yeah?”

“Yeah, perfect. Chin up, eh, Louis?”

“Chin up,” Louis says. “I’ll call you. Love you, man.”

“Love you, too,” Niall says. The words are quick out of his mouth and leave him buzzing after.

“Alright, mate. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Lou.”

Niall lies still for a long time after he hangs up, waiting for whatever’s squeezing his heart in his chest to subside. It doesn’t go away, though. It’s more like a lifestyle these days.

He does feel sad about Eleanor. He feels sad that Louis is sad, and that Louis is going to have to deal with all this. And Eleanor was a great girl. It’ll be a shame not to have her around.

But there’s the other part of this, of course. The part where Niall is not an objective third party. The part where Niall has spent hours and hours imagining what might happen if Louis ever broke up with Eleanor, imagining what he’d do with the opening.

That line of thought never led anywhere particularly feasible. Eleanor out of the mix doesn’t change the fact that Louis likes girls, and Niall… doesn’t.

It’s still nerve-wracking on some deep level to admit that to himself, like it’s viscerally dangerous, a part of him that shouldn’t be there. Though the scary bit is that it should be. It feels true. He knows he has to make his peace with it and let it stay – he thinks this as though the reality is outside of him, haunting him or something. But he’s still wondering if he lets it alone, whether it’ll just fade. Whether everything can go back to the way it was.

But Louis won’t let that happen. It figures it would be Louis at the center of this – loud, captivating Louis, who wants to be what you remember, who wants to stick with you. Who Niall’s been stuck on since the beginning. Who’s in his life even more now, somehow, in a way Niall hadn’t even realized was an option.

Louis wants to visit him. He picked Niall over everyone. Picturing the two of them on their own out here, away from everything, makes Niall feel almost panicky.

He pushes the thought as far to the back of his mind as it’ll go and wanders out of his room in a daze. Darragh hasn’t moved, but the TV’s playing football highlights. Niall drops back onto the couch.

“Everything okay?” Darragh asks.

“Yeah. He broke up with his girlfriend. Eh, fuck, that’s probably a secret.”

Darragh gives a low whistle. “Shit,” he says. “Yeah, sure. How’s he doing?”

“Could be worse. He wants to come visit.”

Darragh's mouth quirks up in the corner. “That’ll be fun. Get him proper Irish drunk, take his mind off it.”

Niall blinks. His mind is going to a place it certainly shouldn’t. He shakes himself a little, managing to laugh. “Yeah.”

They go out later with Shanon and some of the others. Louis visiting is all Niall can come up with every time someone asks him what’s new. He feels like a kid with a crush. He _is_ a kid with a crush. He drinks too much and talks about Louis more than he talks about himself. _I’m fine, thanks for asking, but let me tell you about Louis Tomlinson…_

He’s drunk and on his own that night and he can’t sleep, thinking of Louis like it’s the only thing he knows how to do. Louis is single, and straight, and coming here. Niall can’t do anything, can’t ruin it, can’t ever let him know.

But – if.

Louis wanted to talk to Niall. He said Niall understood. He wants to come and be with Niall, now of all times. Surely it must mean something.

 _It doesn’t mean anything_ , Niall thinks, with enough force that it aches in the back of his skull. _It can’t._

He’s going to give himself a headache now and a hangover tomorrow if he keeps on like this, already right at the edge of too drunk.

He’s close enough to that edge that he thinks, _but what if it did?_

It’s always if.

 _Alright_ , he thinks, _alright_. He sinks into that _if_ until it’s Louis hugging him for too long at the airport and Louis telling him again that he’d missed him. Until it’s a clear picture, Louis’ smile, small and warm and private. The two of them alone in Niall’s house, just them, everything quiet. Louis goes, _I’m really glad I came here_. He goes, _I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Niall,_ and Niall’s breath hitches.

 _About what_ , he’d ask, and Louis is sitting next to him on the couch, and he inches closer, slips his hand over Niall’s between them. _You_ , he says. God, that’s stupid. Niall’s heart is pounding. He wants this to be real so badly.

And he would kiss Louis, then, because in this world there’s no such thing as fear or repercussions. He’d see that Louis was thinking of kissing him, and he’d beat him to the punch. He’d want to show Louis that he wanted him, too, that this could be okay. Better than okay. That it could be everything Louis needs.

It’s the same scenario he’s imagined a million times, and it’s almost too perfect. Suddenly Niall can’t hold onto it. Louis is coming to him hurting this time, vulnerable, messed up and down on himself and in need of distraction. Niall could be that. They could be a little drunk, and Louis could be wallowing, and Niall could say something easy, something between mates, like, _let me take your mind off her_. And they’d laugh, but Niall would mean it.

He wouldn’t kiss him first thing – would slip a hand between his legs, maybe, bold as anything, rub the heel of his palm over Louis’ dick in his jeans. Louis would gasp. _What are you doing_ , Niall hears him say, that high rasp in his voice, and Niall starts kissing his neck. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip as he thinks of it, heart pounding. _Shh_ , he’d say, _let me_ , and Louis would tip his head back. _Fuck, Niall_ , he’d gasp, and his hand would come up to the back of Niall’s head, fingers sliding into his hair.

Niall actually gasps aloud when he hits the surface of his own mind for a second, like he’s been underwater. He’s getting hard in his shorts over the thought of being Louis’ rebound, heat spiraling tight through his stomach. Jesus fucking Christ. Niall rolls on his side, hips restless beneath his sheets. He feels dizzy, sick, almost, but he shoves his hand inside his waistband and wraps his fingers around his dick, just squeezing, eyes falling shut.

He hisses when he thinks of Louis pulling him up to kiss his mouth, more teeth and slick tongue than anything sweet or gentle. Louis would push him down on the couch and straddle him, hot and desperate and hard against Niall in his jeans.

Niall wriggles out of his shorts and spits in his hand and grips himself again, stroking, setting a purposeful rhythm. The shame is being pushed so far to the back of his mind he barely feels it anymore.

It’s Niall’s fantasy, so Louis would want to suck him off first, pink-cheeked with his hair falling over his face, taking Niall all the way, easily, thumbs pressing in above his hips. _Let me, let me_ , he’d say, just like Niall had, _I want to_. Niall imagines Louis’ tongue against him, the tight, wet heat of his mouth, and he curls in on himself, gasping, feeling a smear of precome at the head of his cock.

He wants Louis inside him. Things are blurring together as he pulls himself off faster, the wet sound of it muffled beneath the sheets. They’re in bed together now, this bed, and Louis is above him, all that gold skin and the pull of his muscles as he fucks Niall, deep and expert. Niall’s pale legs are wrapped around Louis’ waist, back arching so that he can feel his hips on every thrust.

Niall bites his pillow to keep quiet, like he can pretend this isn’t happening. He’s sweating, trembling, hot everywhere, and he wants to finger himself but he can’t stop jerking his cock long enough to manage it. Every surge of heat on the upstroke feels like Louis would, moving in him. Niall imagines the sound of his panting breath, the high threads of it, pushing out between Louis’ lips.

Would Louis be thinking of him or someone else as they were fucking? Niall muffles a moan like a sob into his pillow. He would let Louis use him like that, would want him to. It’s not all of what he wants, but it’s so much better than nothing.

He feels his orgasm building in him then, his body trembling in on itself. He sucks the thumb of his free hand into his mouth and presses it over a nipple, thinking of Louis tonguing at him. His hips jerk forward, and Louis’ name falls from his mouth on a broken little gasp as he comes.

It takes a long time to move afterward. Niall stays still, his hand wet beneath the sheets, eyes squeezed shut. If he moves, it becomes pure fantasy again, as distant and ridiculous and embarrassing as ever.

He imagines Louis’ forehead pressed against his after, imagines him kissing Niall at the corner of his jaw and then on his mouth, so sweet and still it makes him want to cry. It would turn into something else, then, both of them realizing they wanted more than a rebound. And Niall would be brave enough to let it happen, if Louis wanted him like that, wanted all of him. Wanted them. Niall wouldn’t shrug it off as a mates thing, as just sex, just because he was scared. He’d follow Louis wherever it led.

His eyes really are burning, then, throat tight. Even the fantasy isn’t enough; he wants to be the one Louis has wanted all along. He grabs a tissue off the nightstand and wipes his hand off roughly, then shoves his head between the pillows and thinks of every guitar chord he knows until he passes out.

*

His hangover the next day is complex and miserable. No evidence of bad decisions on his phone, though, which normally he’d consider a bit of a shame, but right now he’s glad for it. He considers tweeting, “had too much t drink ! feel like trash haha,” or words to that effect. Then he wonders if Louis would see it and think – something. He groans, glowering into his pillow, and shoves his phone away from him.

After a couple of minutes of more groaning and glowering, he grabs the phone back and sends the tweet as a text to Bressie instead. He gets back “Solidarity, chief” and smiles hazily. Bressie’s in Dublin. Niall could go see him. Brez, unlike Niall, _is_ an objective third party to what's going on with Louis. He could probably help Niall untangle everything that’s going on in his head.

Would "I’m having a sexual crisis over my bandmate who’s just broke up with his girlfriend and he’s coming to see me next week, what the fuck am I going to do" be too much for one text? Maybe Niall should try getting out of bed first.

He doesn’t make it that far for at least another hour, and the moment his feet hit the floor his phone is buzzing again. A text from Louis, then another and another. Niall’s hungover heart leaps pathetically in his chest.

_See you Saturday mate!!_  
Is that ok?  
Dont care, I’m coming anyway. GET EXCITED. 

Today is Thursday. Niall laughs out loud, then goes to take a shower and either figure out how he’s going to handle this or drown, whichever comes first.

*

Louis hugs him for too long at the airport and tells him he’d missed him, and all of Niall’s plans not to hope evaporate in an instant.

He holds on tight.

“Hey, Lou.” His voice comes out soft, muffled in Louis’ wooly jacket collar. They’re standing by Niall’s Range Rover in the pick-up lane outside baggage claim. “Missed you too.”

Louis gives him another squeeze, then steps back. “I’m so happy I’m here,” he says. “I love this. Niall in the wild.”

Niall snickers. “Nialls Gone Wild.”

“Just how I like ‘em,” Louis says. “Right, you gonna take me home, then?”

“And let me kiss you,” Niall sings. Louis rolls his eyes and chucks his bag in the backseat.

“No fans around,” he notes as they drive off. “Good old small town.”

“Easy there, Doncaster. Did you have any on your way out?”

“Nope.” Louis puts his feet up on the dash. “Don’t know if anyone knows I’m here.” He rolls his head to the side, looking at Niall’s profile. Niall glances at him, grinning.

“Hey,” he says again, stupidly.

“Hey.”

“You seem okay,” Niall says. “How’re you feeling?”

Louis pushes a big sigh out from his chest, looking out at the road. “Did you expect I’d get here weeping and, like, clutching a wad of tissue and wearing a funeral veil?” The joke falls a little flat, but Niall laughs anyway.

“No,” he says. “Just saying. You seem like yourself.”

“I feel like myself,” Louis says. “Just… me without her, you know.”

“Yeah.”

Louis is quiet for a long time before he says, “I kind of like it.”

"You do?"

"Feels like I can, like, breathe for the first time in forever." He makes a winded little sound, like he's surprised himself. "I mean. I hate it, I hate that she – that I wasn't – fuck. That it wasn't _enough_ for her, whatever, but…" He laughs, then. "Are we really doing this now? We've hardly left the airport."

Niall shrugs, twitching a smile in the corner of his mouth. "Your party, Tommo. I'm here to listen. Or not. Whatever you need to do, man."

"Alright," Louis says, and plows on straight away. "Yeah, it's just – God, it's just weird to go home and be off and stuff, isn't it? And remember who you were without all this. I mean, who you are without it. And all the, like, shitty parts of that person." His mouth ducks down around the words. "And with Eleanor, I guess it was just – I'd always try to give her that _before_ sort of version of me, like it was better or something, or like it was what she wanted. It's really strange. I really think that's what I was doing. I don't know. She had me figured out, by the end."

"Better she wanted the real you than something else," Niall offers, thumbing at the steering wheel. 

"Yeah." Louis laughs again. "I say I feel like me without her, but I don't know if I was me _with_ her. I think that was the problem. Does that make sense?" 

"If you don't feel like you could be, like, truthful with her," Niall says, "like, true to yourself, then yeah."

"That could be it." Louis looks over at him, smiling a little. "Really glad I'm here, though. I know how to be me around you." 

Niall laughs, choking back the flood of emotions that rise in him at that, like Louis' words have punctured something and he can't stem the flow. "Yeah, Louis," he says, throat tight. "I'm glad you're here too."

"So. This your town?" He's looking out the window now. 

"Yeah, coming up on it. I'll give you the grand tour. Not a lot to see, but we can drive around."

"Good. Distract me."

Niall looks over at him, feeling his heart swell painfully in his chest. _You look good here_ , he thinks. _We could be so good together._

It's almost fascinating how painful it is to be back with him, how physical the ache is of thinking these things and carrying on like nothing's happening. Niall won't ever get all the way desensitized to it. 

All he says in the end is, "Happily, sir," touching his temple in salute. Then he laughs. "Jesus, y'know, you come here looking to take your mind off it and all I do is fucking rake you over it the second I've got you. I'll stop, I promise."

"You're alright." Louis is grinning now. "If I want to get out and walk, I'll let you know."

Niall laughs. "Deal," he says. "Now, if you look to your left, you'll see the pub where I had my first beer when I was twelve..." 

* 

They don't talk about Eleanor again that afternoon, and they go out with Niall's friends that night, in the spirit of distraction and vacation and too long without being drunk in one another's company. Louis has met most of Niall's people before, but seeing him here with them is something else entirely. Laughing in one of Niall’s bars in Niall’s town like he belongs there, like he’s always been in Niall’s life, like he wants to stay. Niall feels like he’s floating away if he looks at him for too long, his face heating up for no plausible reason. He’s half panicking and half elated and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Louis gets a round of shots and makes Niall link arms to do theirs, then falls, laughing, face against Niall's chest when they’re done. Niall watches his arm come up around Louis’ shoulders without permission from his brain. He laughs into the top of Louis’ head, squeezing his eyes shut. Louis smells good. Familiar.

“I’ve missed this, man, I really fucking have,” Louis says, looking up at Niall, close. The bar, the noise, everyone else falls away. _The crinkles by your eyes_ , Niall thinks moronically, and then he’s giving Louis a smacking kiss on the cheek before he can talk himself out of it. He’s bright red after, he’s pretty sure, but Louis looks delighted. It’s amazing how much Niall can manage outwardly and still be this disaster of confused feelings inside.

“Crazy to see you out here,” he says. “On my turf.”

“It’s great,” Louis says. “It’s not London or Doncaster, and there’s alcohol. My favorite kind of place at the mo'.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Niall says, and they both do, copiously, until Niall’s nearly forgotten to be scared.

Louis doesn’t start to get sad until after last call, once they've taken pictures with a few fans on the street ("That's our cover blown," Louis whispers to him, warm and close and making the girls giggle and Niall himself feel a little swoony) and they're cabbing home together and there's a little more room for Louis to remember what he's doing there.

“Have I mentioned I’m glad I came here?” he asks seriously. “Thank God. Never want to leave.” He closes his eyes.

Niall’s leaning close to him, and it crawls across his brain that he’s being selfish, thinking of himself and the two of them in all this more than just what Louis needs on his own. Then he’s distracted by the brush of stubble under Louis’ chin and down his throat. He wants to push his nose into it, to kiss the skin beneath. 

He settles for resting his head on Louis’ shoulder, as if in solidarity. Louis leans his head on Niall’s, and they’re quiet, half-asleep, the rest of the way home.

He puts Louis in the guest bedroom, stumbling around speaking in a slurred whisper about sheets and towels and if he needs anything just to holler. Louis isn't saying much besides thank you and the occasional quip about hospitality. Niall’s thoughts are getting reckless in a way that could only come from being alone with Louis in a quiet, dark bedroom. He says goodnight too quickly, and Louis pulls him into a hug before he goes. He seems sobered, a little, but Niall feels like he can barely stand.

“Thanks again,” Louis says. “No, Niall.” He holds him by the shoulders. “Thank you, bro, seriously.”

“Ah, go on,” Niall says. He squeezes Louis’ shoulder, heart thudding in his chest. “Goodnight, mate.”

“Night,” Louis says. He stands and watches Niall go.

It seems like it’s only been minutes, but Niall must have actually fallen asleep by the time Louis wakes him up again. He doesn’t feel as drunk as he was but he’s not sober yet. The gears of his brain are sluggish at first in processing the silhouette in his bedroom doorway.

“Hey.” Louis’ voice is its sleep-rasp. Niall loves that voice.

He sits up, squinting and rubbing his eyes. They sting. “Hey,” he says. “What’s up? Can’t sleep?”

“Nah.” Louis is fidgeting. “Lemme bunk up with you, eh?”

“Yeah,” Niall mumbles. He scoots to the side, throwing back the duvet. His brain is two steps behind this situation. Niall can feel it sending frantic flight signals from somewhere far away, but the concept isn't gaining any purchase. Right now he just wants to sleep with Louis.

The dark in Niall’s room is low and soft and so is Louis as he slips under the covers, vulnerable in the shadows, as still as he ever gets. The angles of him, usually sharp enough to cut, are all worn down. He curls up on his side facing Niall.

“Sleepover,” he whispers.

Niall reaches out like he’s in a trance. His fingers bump against Louis’ cheek, and Louis shuts his eyes. He murmurs something, mostly breath, that could be Niall’s name.

“You okay?” Niall asks.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Still a bit drunk, I think.”

“Me too.” Niall’s fingers are stroking now, tracing random lines across Louis’ face. The bridge of his nose, his jaw.

“I can tell,” Louis laughs. He catches Niall’s fingers gently in his own and holds them still, looking at him.

“I keep wanting to miss her,” he says. “But I only really miss the idea of her. Having someone.” He swallows. “Feel like I’ve not been honest with myself. That’s the worst part, you know?”

“Yeah,” Niall says. He shifts his hand in Louis’ grasp until he can curl his fingers around the side of Louis’ palm, and they’re facing each other, just holding hands. “It’s hindsight, man.”

“I know, I know.”

 _I think I’m gay_ , Niall thinks, with as much urgency as he can muster through the haze of drink and sleep and Louis this close to him. _I’ve not been honest with myself, either. I’ve not been honest with you._

He wants to say it so badly that it hurts, that it feels insane every moment he isn’t saying it, like it’s burning up in his throat. He knows with certainty that if he doesn’t kiss Louis now he’ll never get to do it.

“Wanna cuddle,” Louis mutters, a little ruefully.

Niall pulls him close, far too awake now for his own good. Louis is pouring his heart out and all Niall can think of is himself. But it isn’t fair. Everything Louis is saying, everything he's doing is something Niall loves about him, hopeless and whole-hearted. He’s so busy loving him lately that he can hardly remember to appreciate why he does. 

He tries to find the part of himself that’s glowing to have Louis even this way, to be mates like this with him, to be the one he trusts. Even that part of him aches.

Louis’ nose is snubbed up against Niall’s throat. “What would I do without you,” he mumbles.

“You’d be a miserable fucker," Niall mumbles back. Louis huffs out a surprised laugh, and Niall feels it right through his chest.

“I would do,” Louis says. 

Niall feels Louis' lips against his Adam’s apple, as if by accident. No – actually by accident. He shivers, just a little, and presses his nose and mouth into Louis’ hair.

“You’ll be alright,” he mumbles. “Always are.”

“Always am,” Louis agrees, nodding. He falls asleep curled up in Niall’s arms anyway. 

*

Niall’s not really hungover when he wakes up in the morning, meaning he’s forced to look with total clarity look on Louis lying next to him, limbs scattered carelessly into Niall’s space. They’d disentangled from each other sometime in the night, but Louis is still facing him. His hands rest palm-up, fingers curled, and Niall stares at them for a while, heart aching somewhere in the distance. He wishes he didn’t remember all the things he hadn’t said and done last night.

At least for now he gets to look at Louis. He seems sweet and sad somehow, in rare guileless form. Niall wants to see him wake, that moment when he comes back to himself, when he turns into who he is.

Louis turns face-first into the pillow before he makes a sound, though, so Niall doesn't get to have his weird insight.

“Hey,” Louis mumbles, rolling a stretch through his whole body. He looks up, squinting. “Niall,” he says, “make me breakfast.”

“Good morning yourself,” Niall says. He sways a little in bed, wanting to give Louis a shove or something but not awake enough yet to figure out how to do it. There’s eggs and toast and things to put in omelettes in the kitchen. He should go do something about those, instead of swooning over this tousled, disoriented boy, blinking and grumbling and warming the half of Niall’s bed that’s usually cold.

It’s a losing battle. Breakfast waits until Louis physically pushes him off the mattress, and Niall takes half the blankets with him, ending up laughing on the floor in a knot.

“Now I’m cold,” Louis wails.

“It’s your own damn fault,” Niall says. “Come help me cook.”

“I should never have married you,” Louis says, stumbling to his feet on the other side of the bed. He tosses Niall a grin over his shoulder. Niall isn’t one to hide a smile, but he face-plants in the blankets on the floor, still laughing, so Louis won’t see how red he’s turned. 

Louis goes to take a piss and meets Niall in the kitchen, shirtless and barefoot and hopping up on the countertop like he owns the place. He's sat in front of the drawer where the cutting boards are, his legs crossed at the ankles. 

Niall puts on the kettle and swats at him half-heartedly with a spatula. 

"I need to get in there."

Louis spreads his legs, grinning, so that Niall has to step between them to get what he needs from the drawer. He can't help looking up at Louis as he does it. It's such a nice angle. Louis smiles down at him.

"Are you making bacon?" he asks, prim as anything. It sends a little flip of pleasure into Niall's stomach, being alone with him like this.

"If you like," he says. 

Louis is only in sweatpants and a shit-eating grin, his legs loose on either side of Niall's hips, palms against the counter. Before he stepped this close, Niall could see the little line where Louis has let his stomach get soft, the parts of his sides that curve just a little above his waistband, the random scribbles of his tattoos, all familiar. Now all he can see is Louis' face. He can practically see up his nose. 

This is the latest in an infinitely long line of indications that Niall is stupid over him, because he realizes then that he's thinking of kissing Louis again, of grabbing his hips, pulling him in. Last night had seemed like the only moment for it that would ever exist, but this seems like the moment too. Niall wonders if every moment he's got Louis to himself will seem right for it. 

He picks a cutting board and turns away. Moments that seem easy are far from safe or smart, and Niall knows, more or less, that the only version of this thing without real consequences is the version that stays inside his head. 

Louis is swinging his feet, kicking at the cabinetry and watching unhelpfully as Niall pulls veggies and meat and eggs out of the fridge. 

"Wanna play FIFA later," he says. It's a demand, not a question. Niall huffs a laugh, picking a knife out of the block for the chives.

"Sure thing." Niall chops up the chives and a red pepper and puts them in a bowl. "Bro – can I ask." He's forcing himself to be casual about this, trying not to plan the words before they come out. It's a mates conversation. Lads talking like lads. No big deal. "Why'd you want to come out here?"

"To see you."

"Yeah, but… like, why else."

"Aw, that's not enough reason?"

Niall grins at him over his shoulder. "Why else," he insists. 

Louis thinks about it, watching Niall dicing ham. "It isn't London," he says finally, "or anywhere near it."

 _Near her_ , Niall thinks. He wonders if Louis is going to talk about it more. Maybe they'll chip away a little every day until he gets whatever it is he needs. 

"Is that enough for you?" Louis asks. He's teasing, Niall knows without turning around, but he looks anyway. 

"Do those eggs," he says, pointing to the carton and an empty bowl on the other side of the range top. "Yeah, but I get it. Get off the island." 

Louis hops obediently down off the counter, which makes Niall laugh, because they both know it's not what he meant. 

"D'you think it's weird that I'm here?" Louis asks. He's leaning against Niall's side of the kitchen now, fiddling with the eggs. "I'll just go, shall I?"

Niall laughs. "Stop that. Nah, it's just…" he swallows. "You know. I'm not usually the one you, like, confide in." He shrugs, as though this isn't what feels like the defining petty jealousy of his entire existence. 

Louis scoffs. "Don't be stupid. I tell you stuff all the time."

"No, but. You know." 

It irks Niall a little, suddenly, that Louis is insisting on pretending this is normal. He and Louis mess each other about on tour, they play, they back each other up. Sometimes they do more, but they don't do this, at least not with depth or regularity. It doesn't fit them as easily as it seems to do with Louis and the rest – him and Zayn holing up for weeks on their bus, or him and Liam writing songs together, or any of the old next-level shit still hanging in the air between him and Harry. Louis and Niall just – hadn't gotten there. Haven't been there. Or wherever they are, it doesn't feel the same. 

Maybe it's just Niall making useless comparisons, and what he has with Louis does translate into this, into a maddeningly casual friends version of the kind of relationship Niall wishes they shared. Maybe this is the love he gets. 

He directs his sorrows at a skillet full of bacon while Louis' frown deepens to his left. 

"You're Niall," Louis says. "You're just – always there." 

Niall's fingers clench around the handle of the frying pan. 

"I don't know." Louis is staring at the dozen eggs on the counter like they might know something about him that he doesn't. "Is it weird if I say I don't want to, like, burden you with stuff? You wouldn't want me to, mate." He huffs a laugh. "Not saying I really do it either with anyone else. But you wouldn't be such a professional ray of sunshine if you had me hanging my problems on you like this all the time." 

"Like this," Niall repeats. He laughs a little in spite of himself. "I'd manage," he says. "I think you'd run out of problems before you got the better of me." 

"That's what everyone else knows that you don't, Niall." Louis points a stern whisk at him. "You can never run out of problems. Well, _you_ probably can. The rest of us are doomed to suffer." 

Niall just shakes his head, laughing. "Are you gonna get to scrambling, there, or are you just gonna keep on philosophizing?" 

Louis chuckles. "See what I mean," he says, and he starts breaking eggs. 

*

They go to an Athlone Town game, him, Louis, Bobby, Greg and Willie, because it's close by and it's football and it's something to do. It's nearly the end of the season. Athlone's playing Sligo, the defending champions. 

"I've not been to a League of Ireland game, like, ever," Louis says as they walk into the grounds. He has a spring in his step. "I'm getting so much culture out here. Mum would be proud." 

"I haven't been to many," Niall says, laughing.

"Because you're a traitor, mate," Louis says sympathetically, throwing an arm around Niall's shoulders. Niall elbows him, cackling. 

"Watch who you're calling traitor," he says. They're both in Derby jackets, both belonging to Niall. It had been a bit like dressing a fussy toddler, getting Louis to put it on, but the effect is well worth it.

"Hey, Rovers're playing Derby in December," Louis says. "You gonna go, Bobby? Cheer on the Donny lads for me?"

"Don't think so," Bobby says. He's on Niall's other side, looking at them both with an easy smile. "Not with a record like theirs, eh?"

"Alright, alright," Louis says, waving him off. "I'm gonna chuck this jacket, I don't need to listen to this."

"You wouldn't dare," Niall says. "You love it, mate. Be getting season tickets soon, I can see it in your eyes." 

Louis ignores him, head held high. He tries to get the first round of pints, but Greg and Willie distract him, and Niall pays while he's not looking. That way it's almost like a date.

Niall winds up in the middle when they're in their seats, shoulders hunched in the evening air. Louis is doing the same, and Niall can't tell which of them is mirroring the other. His jacket is a bit big on Louis, which is devastatingly adorable. 

He spends most of the game watching what Louis is watching and laughing when he laughs and ribbing him about the Rovers with Willie. There's a magic in being out at any match that makes Niall bolder, and he can't stop himself leaning in close to Louis to point out different players, shoulders touching and the space between them warm. Athlone wins 1-0, and they're all cheering by the end, taken with it, pink-cheeked and hoarse. 

They go out to eat and keep drinking when it's finished. Niall notices Bobby shooting him a look when he sits by Louis. Their eyes stay on each other for a second, and Niall raises his eyebrows, like, _what?_

Bobby just shrugs. Niall has a sinking feeling he's being dad-analyzed, but then Louis launches into an animated retelling of the time the fan came to his hotel room door in Vegas while he was in boxers, and Niall has to pay attention again. 

He's expecting Louis to studiously omit Eleanor from the story, but he breezes over her name without seeming to mind. That might be progress. Niall watches his face for a while longer anyway, just to make sure he's okay. 

*

Louis follows him to his room that night like it's expected, and Niall doesn't say anything. It's not that late and they're only a little drunk, but they're tired, ears still ringing from the game earlier. 

The light's still on when Louis drops down into Niall's bed, both of them shirtless on their backs with their feet kicked under the covers. 

"Shut the light, eh," Niall says.

"Oh, yeah." Louis rolls back out of bed and Niall shifts while he's gone, closer to where he was lying, watching the strong curve of Louis' bare back as he moves. The light goes out and throws it into sharper relief, and Niall lets a silly, lovesick grin take his face over for a second. He feels warm and safe and really good, actually, better than he has in a while with this. 

Louis turns and sees him, and he smirks. "Look at you," he says. "Just over there grinning to yourself. Strange little boy, you are." 

"I'm just glad you had fun," Niall says. "We should go to that Derby-Rovers match next month."

"I'd love to," Louis says, climbing back into bed, "but I don't know. I wouldn't want to jeopardize our friendship." 

Niall laughs, trying to ignore the pang in his heart at that. "Man, you don't even like the Rovers that much."

"Shh." Louis puts a finger to Niall's lips, and Niall has to restrain himself from biting or licking or doing something else untoward. "No one can know." 

He takes his hand back and they just grin at each other, lying a foot apart in the dark bedroom. Niall swallows, propping himself up on one elbow. "Can I ask you a serious question now?"

"All this pillow talk," Louis sighs. "Yeah, no, alright." 

"How long's it actually been since you split up with her?" 

Louis frowns. "Almost a month. God, time flies, eh?"

Niall nods. 

"I spent the first little while trying to get back, you know," Louis says, shifting so he's staring at the ceiling. "Calling and asking what I could do, I don't know. I figured I owed her that much. That's when I was asking Zayn if he had any expert advice. But Pez and him haven't ever had any trouble like this." He shakes his head. "Anyway, it didn't work." He turns his face toward Niall, blinking owlishly in the soft dark. "So I, like, gave up. Officially. And then I called you." 

"You think you really have given up? I don't blame you if you have. Just wondering." 

"Yeah," Louis says softly. "It's easier than you'd think to let go of something like that. I mean – I still wish things could be different. But I guess it's like I said. She wasn't really wrong, her reasons and all. So…"

"Have to let her go," Niall murmurs absently. 

"Yeah." Louis turns half onto his side, as rapt with attention as he could be when they're both on the verge of sleep like this. "Is that bad, you think?"

"Nah, not saying. Not at all." Niall shrugs, not looking Louis in the eye. "I mean, what do I know. But – seems like you're doing an okay thing, here." It's all he can do to hope that's coming from an unselfish place inside him. He can never be sure. He has to try actively these days to remember how to be a proper friend to Louis, how to act normal. 

Louis is studying Niall, head tipped a little against the pillow. 

"This is quite good, isn't it," he says. He draws a finger in a line across the mattress, connecting them. "You're the best fucking listener of anyone, you know, mate?"

"Aw. I try." 

Louis smiles a little. "Where did you come from," he murmurs, poking Niall in the tummy. "Little Niall." He does it in his sing-song voice, and the corner of Niall's mouth ticks up. Inside, his heart is starting to ache. 

He doesn't know what Louis wants him to say to shit like that. _I've been here_ , he thinks. _I've been here the whole fucking time_. His love is turning sour in its misuse, curdling. He feels old. 

"You're in it now, man," he says, shrugging his shoulders against the bed. "My humble beginnings."

"I mean with me," Louis says. Niall almost rolls his eyes. He knows that, but he doesn't want to take this there, doesn't want to talk about what a great friend he's become with Louis, how special this thing is. He's never going to stop wanting him. It's never going to be like it was or like it could have been. Niall thinks in those hyperboles with Louis here in front of him, and he knows he's being dramatic, but it all seems so insurmountably true. 

Louis wriggles closer, arms folded at odd angles in front of his chest, until he can hook his chin over Niall's shoulder, cuddling into him. Niall feels his eyelashes on his skin for a moment when Louis turns his face, and it makes him shiver. _Stop_ , he thinks feebly. _Do it right or don't at all._

"I like this," comes Louis' whisper. He frees one of his arms from the space between them and drapes it over the dip in Niall's side. 

"Yeah, Lou," Niall whispers back. "Me too." His brain is screaming, _I like this so much,_ so loud and intense that it doesn't really match up with Louis' tone or anything else about this situation. But it shouldn't, Niall thinks, since their two feelings aren't the same kind. 

He feels so desperately sorry for himself, miserably, incorrigibly. He wants more than anything to snap out of this, but he can't. Not when Louis won't stop cuddling up to him and telling him all the ways in which Niall's his person now and then not kissing him, not loving him back, never properly. 

He's expecting more to come of the conversation, but the silence stretches for a few minutes, Louis still curled close to him, and eventually Niall realizes he's fallen asleep. He stays as still as he can, feeling his breathing match pace with Louis', and lulls himself to sleep pretending this is real. 

*

The rest of Louis' visit passes in much the same way; drinking, video games, wandering about, cuddling. It's like something out of a dream, and not exactly in a good way. It's like Niall knows what it is and what he wants from it and he just doesn't quite have the control to make it change. 

The only saving grace is Mullingar. Niall knows himself here, feels more grounded walking around the streets of his hometown than anywhere else. It's almost easy to slip back into something normal when he takes Louis out shopping, feeling cheerful as he waves at folks he knows driving by and points out landmarks. 

"You're rather in your element," Louis remarks on his second-to-last day there, grinning as he watches Niall skidding to a halt to look in some storefront that's changed since the last time he saw it. 

"What can I say," Niall says, grinning back, easy and exuberant. "Love it here. Best place on Earth."

"I always feel kind of weird when I go home," Louis says. "Like I should've outgrown it, but I haven't, quite, and – it's just strange, now. Don't remember how to be there."

"It's like riding a bike, for me," Niall says. It's properly chilly at this time of year and he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, shoulders hunched up. Louis is in his jacket with the furry collar again. Niall reaches out and rubs at it between his thumb and forefinger, as absently as he can.

"You haven't changed as much as you think," he tells him. "Neither has home. It's just about, like, trying to be normal." 

"I get worried about not having changed, though," Louis says. He's suddenly a little serious, to the point where Niall stops walking and turns to face him. "I want to have. Sometimes I just…" he trails off. He's looking out at the square they're passing, arms folded across his chest.

"You know you're just _you_ , man," Niall says. "Hey." He reaches out and touches Louis' elbow with his fingertips, gentle, just enough to ground them both. "You're just Louis, yeah? With or without Eleanor, before, after, I don't know." He's self-conscious, suddenly, but he plows on. He wants to be the one to help Louis feel okay. "Here or on the road or at home," he says. "You can't get lost in it. You've just gotta try to be, like, steady." 

Louis smiles. 

"Yeah," he says. "I know. I do try. But you're right." 

Niall shrugs, a bit flushed.

"So wise," Louis intones in his best Ron Burgundy voice. "Like a miniature Buddha, with an Irish accent." 

Niall laughs. They set off walking again, but Louis is close at his hip. He slings an arm around his shoulders, squeezing.

"Nah, but it is good to see you here," he says. "You're a proper role model, Niall. I oughta take notes."

"Eh, go on." Niall leans into him, their feet weaving on the sidewalk. It's true; he does know how to do this, how to be the one who doesn't fuck himself all up in the midst of their crazy lives. It's like his specialty. It's doing it with Louis where he loses track of things. 

*

It's raining the day Louis goes back to Doncaster, which is just fucking perfect. They wake up with the daylight and the pattering on the windowpane. Louis just looks at him for a while, and Niall doesn't know what to say. Then Louis smiles, rolling onto his back. 

"What time's my flight?"

"No idea," Niall says. Louis glances back at him.

"God, you look so sad." He laughs, and Niall goes red. "Don't worry, mate, I'm not going far. Be back together for press before you know it." 

Niall thinks about this. He thinks about the way he'd have missed Louis back when things were normal, how he'd have missed him as a friend. He thinks about how Louis will probably miss him, the same way he misses any of the other four. 

He thinks how even if he's something special to Louis now, it's not special enough, because he's had him here for five days and he's been too scared to make anything happen. He's going to let him walk away today and nothing will have changed. 

"Yeah," he says, forcing a smile that constricts his throat. "No worries."

It's under his skin like a panic the whole way through tea and cereal and fussing with the computer trying to get Louis' boarding pass. He's white-knuckled on the steering wheel as they drive to the airport. Louis is talking about nothing in the passenger seat, throwing glances at Niall, pinching his side, obviously trying to get him to liven up. 

Niall wants to so badly. He wants to be able to stop the car and say "fuck it" and grab Louis by the front of his t-shirt and kiss him. He wants to have a speech he can pull out at the last possible moment at the airport, about _what if you stayed_ and _I've loved you this whole time, Louis_ and whatever fucking rom-com nonsense he can come up with. Anything.

He knows there's a person in him who'd make a fool of himself for the sake of this, for the sake of happiness, his or others', for the sake of not caring. But that person doesn't act the same around Louis. 

It scares Niall how much love changes you, how it can be imaginary and stuck up in your head and still tear you up. How it asks you to do things you never wanted, to be beholden to someone, to hide your feelings. He's done it all as though it's normal, and no matter what Louis does, he'll still feel it. It's so unfair that something that should be good and right and easy can set him so at odds with everything comfortable. 

Louis is beside him, giving him a look like, _what's up with you?_ And Niall smiles and smiles and can't fucking say a word. 

At Departures, Niall parks and puts his hazards on. There aren't any fans about, and no one seems to spot them as Louis drops his bags on the curb and stands there looking oddly bashful, thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. 

"Well," he says. 

Niall's brain is screaming, _kiss him, you idiot, just fucking do it,_ so loud that he can barely hear. He knows he can't. There are so many reasons not to and Niall is still killing himself wanting. 

"Really glad you came out," he says instead. His voice is trembling, almost imperceptibly. Louis doesn't seem to notice. He grins. 

"Me too," he says. "Me fucking too." 

They just look at each other for another moment, then Louis laughs. "Alright, bring it in, you big sap," he says, and he reaches out. 

Niall feels Louis' stubble rasp across his cheek as he wraps his arms around him. Louis holds him tight, and Niall squeezes back, his nose against Louis' neck inside his jacket collar. He smells like home. Niall presses his mouth to the warm, hidden skin at the juncture of his shoulder, just for a moment; not a kiss, but a point of contact still. He can't help himself. 

Louis slips out of his arms after too long, holding onto Niall's shoulders. His fingertips press in, and Niall can't take his eyes off Louis' face.

"Thanks," Louis says, twitching a smile in the corner of his mouth. "You know, for... being there for me." His hands move to Niall's cheeks for a moment, patting, then the sides of his neck. 

Horribly, there are tears threatening behind Niall's eyes and in his throat. He blinks a couple of times, hoping he's being subtle, and lets his mouth break into a smile. 

"Didn't do nothing," he says. "Good on you for coming, eh."

"So modest, Niall," Louis tuts. He's watching him, still, like he's got something else he's thinking of saying. But then he lets go. "Right, I'm off," he says, hefting up his bag. "I'll see you soon, yeah?"

"I'm counting the days," Niall says. Louis grins, then pulls Niall in again, one more time, one-armed around his shoulders with his cheek against Niall's. Niall feels dizzy with it, crazy with impossibility. 

"Safe flight," he murmurs, once Louis lets him go again. 

"Love you, man. Take care."

"Love you too." Niall waves as Louis walks away, fingers stiff to keep from shaking. "Bye, Louis."

"Bye, Nialler!" 

He waits until Louis is through the sliding doors and into the ticket area and out of sight, already distant. Niall wants to know what he's thinking. He wants to be with him.

He gets back in his car and puts it in drive and sobs, bitter and stricken and heartbroken, all the way home. 

*

It's as he's pulling up to his place that he realizes he can't go inside. It'll be so big and quiet and empty, and it'll smell of Louis. Louis' dishes will be in the sink. Niall thinks, hollowed-out and irrational, how horribly unfair that is. He drives to his Da's place instead. 

Bobby seems like he knows what's up when he answers the door, if that look of fatherly sympathy is any judge. Niall supposes it must be written on his face, in the red lines of his eyes. He gives his dad a hug and a watery smile. 

"How about a cuppa, eh," he says, stepping inside and looking back.

"'Course, Niall." 

He sits down in the kitchen while Bobby puts the kettle on, not really knowing what to say. 

"It's Theo's christening this weekend," Bobby says at length, turning around and leaning against the counter. "You're coming, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Niall says. "Yeah, absolutely I am." He'd forgotten it was so soon. That means press for the album is coming right up; Louis hadn't been wrong when he said they wouldn't be apart long. Niall knew all of this cerebrally, but it feels warped and distant. Louis being here had put everything on hold. 

Bobby's looking at him, considering.

"Did Louis get out alright?"

"Yeah. I just dropped him off." 

"Was good of him to come out. He's a good lad. Haven't had one of the boys out here since Harry, have we."

Niall smiles a little, remembering that. 

"So, are you two… you're better friends now, aren't you, than you were?" Bobby asks.

Niall shrugs. "Sure," he says, and then he checks himself. "Yeah, we are." He forces a laugh and makes a face. "You know me. I'm everyone's favorite." 

Bobby chuckles. 

“It seems like you make him happy,” he says after a moment. “Just like you do everyone, 'course. But I’m sure Louis really needed it."

Niall can feel his face pinching. He wishes the kettle would boil; he needs something to put in his hands, to focus on besides this.

“You can talk to me, Niall, if you need to,” Bobby says. Niall had known it was coming, but it still makes him hurt.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” Bobby touches the dial on the stove that’s keeping the flame on, that absent way of checking things that Niall has too. “I know you’re all grown up and you're far away from here, and I’m still your little ol' Da in little Mullingar. But I know when you’re sad.”

Niall’s mouth twists, half-smiling, half choked up. He looks down at his own hands, folded on the familiar countertop. "I don't…" he tries, but he doesn't know what to say. He doesn’t feel quite in touch with this conversation, afraid to be all the way in it. Half of him still back in his apartment with Louis and the past few days.

He wants so badly to tell someone, to find out what it would even sound like to say any part of it, what it would feel like to have it out there.

“It’s just hard,” he says in a very small voice. Bobby’s mouth ducks.

Niall looks up, searching his father’s face for disappointment or mistrust or anything less than love and support, but it’s the only thing there. He thinks then that he’s the only person holding himself back from being okay with this; it seems like nobody else would care or think less of him, if he – if they knew he was gay. But he knows it’s not that simple.

“Niall, you’ve got to do what makes you happy and damn the rest,” Bobby says. He takes a step across the kitchen, leaning over to touch Niall’s shoulder. “Hey, look. Look at me.”

Niall does. He knows his eyes are red-rimmed and watery, but they’re past the point where that’s going to matter.

“D'you love that boy?”

Niall shuts his eyes.

“Niall, it’s alright,” Bobby says. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” Niall blurts out. His heart is racing. “Fuck, I do. I really do.”

Bobby just nods, looking at him, close. 

“You know," Niall says, strained, "I think –” 

He takes a breath, and lets it out. 

He takes another. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately," he says, "that I don’t think I like girls.”

He exhales.

“Okay,” Bobby says. “That’s absolutely okay.”

“I know it is,” Niall says. He’s crying now, face crumpling.

“What am I going to do?” he asks.

Bobby squeezes his shoulder. Niall is so glad he’s here. There’s still weight on every part of him, but it’s eased just that little bit. When he breathes now, he feels like it’s reaching his lungs, his heart, even if it hurts. 

“You can’t be anybody else but you, Niall, you know that," Bobby says. "You shouldn’t want to be.”

“I _don’t_ ,” Niall says. “But – it’s complicated, y'know?”

“Because you like Louis,” Bobby tries gently.

Niall hiccups out a laugh. “And – yeah. And just because of everything.”

“I know that. But you can’t go ‘round carrying it like this. I don’t like to see you down.”

Behind them, the kettle starts to whine. Niall sniffs, tasting salt at the corner of his mouth. He wipes his face.

"What gave me away?" he asks. "With Louis." 

Bobby sighs as he goes to shut the burner off and pour the tea. "It's just a little different with him than it is with the others. You let him say shite you'd never let Harry get away with, like. And I like him. 'Course I do. But there it is."

Niall laughs a little. "Yeah," he says. “I know."

Bobby hands him a mug.

"I almost told him,” Niall says. “Christ, like… did something. I don't know. I almost did about a hundred times while he was here. It’s fucked up.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because he’s –” Even now, the words are hard to use. He takes an over-hot sip of tea and it sears all the way through his constricted chest. “He’s straight.”

“I don’t know, lad." Bobby cups his hand around his mug. "I don’t want to tell you to do anything that’ll get you hurt.”

Niall’s shoulders slump a little. “Yeah.”

“Look, Niall. You’re young yet, eh? And I know this feels like it’ll kill you. I know. But you’ve dealt with so many things. And you’ll live through this. And I’m so proud of you, no matter what.”

The tears are starting again. Niall blows on his tea, watching it ripple and steam.

“Thanks, Da,” he murmurs.

Bobby kisses the top of his head, like he’s five years old. Niall wishes he could just stay here, being coddled and protected and not having to face anything uncertain. “You’re my brave boy,” Bobby says. “Always will be.”

Niall doesn't feel brave. He feels small, and fragile, and like he's at the end of this without being anywhere near the end of it. Like he doesn't know what else to do anymore. But he smiles anyway, squirming. It still feels good, on some level, to hear Bobby say the words.

He's home later, drinking beer and watching football and scrolling through Twitter idly, almost like things are normal. It's only then that it occurs to him what he did today. The confession; the fact that someone knows now, the way he'd wanted, the way everyone always wants, even if they don't realize it, or at least that's what he supposes. 

He came out to his dad, and the world didn't end. He did that. 

He actually smiles before he realizes what he's feeling. It's been such a bad thing this whole time, like a persistent headache lingering in the back of his skull. To have it be real now, or the beginnings of real – it's _big_. It thrills through him. 

He's scared suddenly that he's deluded himself, that he's lying, that he'll change his mind. It's one thing to doubt when it's only private confusion, but another entirely when it's tangible out there in the world. 

Then he thinks about how he feels when he talks to someone like Ellie, say, and how he feels when he talks to Louis, and oddly, the beat of his heart settles down. There are plenty of lovely girls in the world, girls he likes to talk to, who he can appreciate are hot and smart and funny, who are, like, girlfriend material or whatever. But he doesn't feel any real urgency in wanting those girls' attention, not like there is with Louis. It's not even like when a good-looking dude talks to him and there's a happy little sense of gratification, like he's worth all that. 

He said it out loud because it's not going away. It may be a fucking pile of shit, but it's his fucking pile of shit. It's one he hopes he'll learn to love. 

*

Niall doesn't get drunk that night, doesn't go out. His sheets smell like Louis. He calls it laziness that he doesn't want to change them, rolls himself up in the comforter like a sad burrito and tries not to think about it as he breathes in and out.

He manages to fall asleep before he has time to get sadder, and when he wakes, it's an odd feeling, to have slept like the dead and not have dreamt. It had been hard to sleep with Louis beside him. He'd wanted to stay up, then, like he was waiting to see what would happen. 

He takes a deep breath and feels an empty place where everything he let out yesterday had been marinating for so long. The morning light around the edges of his curtains is bringing him a grim clarity: that this thing, this failed experiment, is over now. 

There's no shame in it, he reasons, giving up on something that's no good anymore, something that you're bad at and that isn't even something you ought to be trying anyway. He's not like Harry, who beats himself up with determination to succeed, or like Louis, who throws his hands up and says "fuck it" at the first sign he might fail. Niall knows when he can cut his losses and be happier for it.

Maybe, if he's lucky, this will be one of those times.

*

He's got a few more days in the Gar to figure it out, and by the time he's packing up to head to Italy for album press, it's become a kind of resolution. 

He's got to get over it. 

It's just that it makes him depressed, and different, and it's never going to happen. If he lets it go any further it's going to mess things up with Louis and everyone else for real. He can tell himself it isn't worth it anymore and try to believe that's true. 

He thinks about seeing all the lads again, thinking about if he could tell them the part of what he told Bobby that doesn't involve Louis. Now that it's out there with his dad, it seems like it should start to get out there with other people close to him, even if they keep it secret. 

But the boys knowing is another thing entirely than it staying in his house in Mullingar. It would be worse to tell them a half-truth than to keep it from them altogether, and he can't tell even one of them everything without fear of it getting back to Louis. 

So nothing changes. 

Niall stops in the middle of folding his last shirt and looks around his room, which is well lived-in considering how little time he spends here. He remembers Louis in that bed and how much everything was normal, how they touched a little, how they stayed awake. 

Louis thinks they can go on being friends after all that. Niall wants to, too, he really does. He lays the shirt down in his case and shuts it decisively. He can do this. Being friends with Louis will be easier than ever now that he's gone so far past it and come back empty-handed. In hindsight, it was always the easy part, even when Louis was difficult, even when he played favorites. What they have is enough.

Niall can tell himself all this and almost believe it. 

*

They make it as far as Spain before this plan stops working. 

They have a hotel party the night after their main interview, and Niall honestly has fun for a while, playing battleshots out of pizza boxes in the kitchen with Louis and Liam and Zayn. But Louis keeps throwing an arm over his shoulders and around his waist and high-fiving him and grabbing his hand, and Niall's drunk and feeling a little raw by the time he stumbles out of the kitchen and finds another beer. He watches Louis go off to talk to Julian by the stereo and feels jealous for literally no reason, and like he wishes he could still be hanging out in the kitchen, with Louis, but also like he wishes Louis wouldn't fucking touch him so much because it isn't fair. 

Louis hasn't exactly been acting like nothing's different since they started this press tour, but he hasn't been acting like anything big has changed, either. He spent a lot of time in Italy telling people about his visit to Mullingar and far less time telling them about Eleanor. He broke the news to the group, and had some closed-door meetings with their publicists that made everyone uncomfortable. Otherwise, he seemed to want to focus on Niall. And Niall had laughed along and nodded and remembered and it was all normal, like they're just good friends now, which they are. 

It's as it ever was – that everything's changed for Niall and nothing has for Louis, except that Louis still seems to be playing with the idea that Niall could be his favorite. ("Niall's just present in everyone's life," Liam had said in Italy. "Niall's just _a_ present," Louis had said, and Niall had grinned and blushed and clenched his jaw.) 

He knows Louis' favor is temporary – a fickle blessing, and a mixed one for obvious reasons. He goes to sleep every night either repeating his get-over-it pact with himself again and again in his head, or wanking and feeling depressed. There's not a lot of grey area between. 

Tonight, with all these thoughts in his head, the switch gets thrown very quickly from being able to live with it to being fed up all to hell with himself and this situation and the fact that there's no end to it in sight. 

He'd thought he could do this, carry his somewhat broken heart and mend eventually. He'd looked way out into the future and thought of all the time he'd have to – get to – spend with Louis, into eternity. He'd thought he could just keep on being a little sad inside until he finally he wasn't, because that's how it would have to be.

Now, drunk in Spain with the way Louis keeps shooting him grins from across the room, he knows with surety that he can't do it. He sets down on the couch and drains half his drink, feeling his mood dropping like a thermometer. 

Two beers later, he hasn't gotten up. Everyone's giving him these concerned looks from far-away corners of the suite, but Niall can't bring himself to rally. He knows he's being awful, but he's starting not to care.

"Morbid drunk's a bad look on you, mate." Zayn sets down next to him on the sofa. "Save that shit for Harry, you know? You alright?" 

"Yeah," Niall says tonelessly. He puts his phone back in his pocket, having done absolutely nothing on it. 

Zayn's stoned, Niall can tell by the way he's talking. He wonders if that means Louis is stoned too. Louis is on the other side of the room, fighting over the stereo with Harry and Julian. He seems lively, which is making Niall feel shittier. 

"You seem – weird, I don't know," Zayn says. "Something bothering you?"

"I'm okay, Zed," Niall says. "Bad knee day, you know." He's bullshitting. He wants Zayn to leave him alone, and he feels bad for wanting that, and everything is just stupid. "How are you?"

"I'm good, mate." Zayn grins lazily. "Still wanna come visit you now, Louis won't shut up about it." 

"Yeah?" Niall asks. It comes out harsh and flat. "That's great. You should, totally. Everyone's invited." 

Zayn's frowning at him. Niall realizes he sounded mean when he said that. He can't remember the last time he felt this resoundingly shitty. "Hey, no, you should come, Zayn. Seriously."

"It's cool, man. I want to. When we're off again, yeah?"

"Yeah." The shitty feeling is compounding itself with every passing moment. Niall just wants to get drunker and go the fuck to bed in peace.

"Oi, Zayn!" Liam calls from by the window. Zayn chucks Niall under the chin with the backs of his knuckles, half-smiling, and gets up. 

Niall's struggling with the problem of wanting to stop being such a bitch and feeling like after everything, he's owed one night of getting to do this. He's so fucking sick of living his life this way, of keeping everything inside him like it's all he deserves. 

He wants to go back and keep this from ever happening, this _love_ thing. It's taken him out of himself, has taken Louis from him, really, even though nothing's changed. He wishes he didn't care about anything. 

"Niall?" 

Liam's there now, on the side opposite where Zayn had sat. 

"Oh," Niall says. "Are you two, like, wingmanning cheering me up or something?"

Liam laughs, a little uncertainly. "D'you need cheering up? What's going on? You've hardly said a word to anyone in, like, ages." 

Niall shrugs, finishing his beer and grabbing another one off the end table. 

"You've not been talking to Louis as much as usual," Liam tries. It's only a little true – Niall's not been talking to anyone as much as usual, but Liam's fishing for explanations like he's trying to figure out whether Niall's sick or just tired. "Are you two… did something, like, happen, while he was in Ireland?"

"No," Niall says on a long sigh. "We're fine."

"Girl problems, then?" Liam asks.

Niall laughs, short and mirthless. It sounds strange even to his own ears. "Definitely not," he says. 

He imagines Liam going _Boy problems?_ after that, and what he'd say, but it doesn't happen. He supposes his facade is that good, which is probably why he's so miserable. 

"I'm just being – just grumpy," he says finally. "Bad knee day." Liam and Zayn will see right through him if they compare notes. He doesn't really care. 

"Okay, man. You want to come shoot some pool or something?"

"I'm good," Niall says. "You go." 

"Alright." Liam still looks concerned, but he backs out of the conversation. Niall feels like he's about to cry. He wants Liam to stay. He wants to tell him, wants to tell him any part of it, but he's never going to. 

Louis is physically removing Harry from control of the iPhone that's plugged into the speakers now, and Niall watches them, sour and tired and way too drunk. Louis sees him, then, and starts to come bounding over. Niall groans internally. 

"Ni-all," Louis sing-songs, dropping down next to him with his arm around Niall's shoulders. Niall stiffens a little, and he sees Louis' face falter. 

"You seem a little off," Louis says, conversational. He doesn't get all quiet and concerned like the others, Niall thinks unkindly, not unless he's in Niall's bed talking about his own problems. Then he feels like a arse for thinking like that. He's already halfway through his new beer, and he wants very badly for Louis to leave him alone like he's usually so content to do. 

"Jesus, I'm fine," Niall says. "Wanna send Harry over next, so I can tell him too?"

"Alright, alright." Louis holds his hands up. "God, what's gotten into you?"

"I'm allowed to have a bad day, Louis," Niall says, eyes squeezed shut. "We all have them. I'm having one today."

"Anything we can do to fix it?" Louis says. "That's all I'm asking." He squeezes the tense muscle of Niall's shoulder, trying to tug him in. Before he realizes what he's doing, Niall's wriggling away.

"I can't do this with you right now." He puts space between them, every inch an effort. "Okay? I can't." 

Louis just stares at him. "No," he says. "I want to know what that means. You're being a dick, and you're never a dick. I want to know what's going on."

Any other day, Louis' lack of boundaries would be one of Niall's favorite things about him. Right now, it's making him want to scream.

"I can't tell you," Niall says.

"Why not?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Louis. Because it's a secret." 

"Secrets, secrets are no fun," Louis says, a little edge to his voice. He looks kind of hurt. 

Niall finishes his beer. "No," he says. "They're not." 

"Aren't we being cryptic."

"Oh my God." Niall puts his head in his hands and takes a deep breath. He looks up and spots Harry eyeing them from the other side of the room, like he's wondering if he needs to intervene. 

Niall can handle this. He can put an end to it for tonight and it'll go back to being how it was, Louis none the wiser and Niall on his own.

His head is slow in turning and his eyelids are heavy when he looks at Louis. He tries to choose his words carefully, but they come out sluggish and halting. He's had way too much to drink. 

"You know how when you have to do something – or like, _not_ do something, for, like, the good of everything besides yourself, like, how it doesn't make it any fucking easier to have – to have to not do it," he says. "That shit isn't fucking fair, that's what's going on. Alright?" Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he's just been very stupid, but he doesn't care. He stands up, swaying.

"Alright," Louis says slowly. "I've no idea what that means, but whatever, mate. You gonna go to bed?"

"Yeah," Niall says. "Have a good night, Louis."

"Yeah. You too, Niall." Louis doesn't seem mad anymore. But he's frowning up at Niall like he's trying to work him out.

Niall leaves before he gets the chance. 

*

He wakes with an all-too familiar feeling the next morning, that of death and alcoholism entombed in an overly plush hotel duvet. It's only the worst hangovers that make him hate even a bed like this one. There have been far too many hangovers like that in the past few months. 

He groans and digs himself deeper into the mattress, against the shreds of evil sunlight working their way in through the edges of the curtains. 

His memory of last night is patchy and blurred: lots of Louis and stress and antisocial behavior, talking to various people, feeling sorry for himself, but nothing overly specific. He must have been really goddamn drunk. 

He hears the snick of the door unlocking and someone letting themselves in. Housekeeping or something, maybe. "Can you come back," he calls weakly. 

"Sorry," Louis says, coming into the bedroom, "but it's now or never, lad." 

"What," Niall says. "Louis." It's all he can manage. 

"Figured you'd be feeling it this morning," Louis says, smiling crookedly. He's in trackies and his Adidas sweatshirt, all soft and comfortable, his hair down across his forehead. "You were proper wasted last night, mate."

"Did Paul let you in?"

"Yep. Thought you could use a hangover nurse." 

Niall doesn't have the strength to protest. 

It's a reversal of their typical morning-after roles, or more accurately, midday-after. Niall holds his liquor better than anyone, and usually it's him who's barging into everyone's rooms with the master key and ordering enough breakfast for 15 people and throwing open the curtains, like he can cure anyone's hangover with the sheer force of his happiness, and oftentimes he does. Niall feels impossibly sad, thinking back to that version of himself. It's been a long time since he's seen it. 

Louis bustles around, ordering room service (breakfast for Niall, lunch for himself), trying to replicate the routine. He's acting a bit awkward. Niall's still trying to piece the night before back together again, but things brown out after battleshots. He remembers feeling shitty later on and mad when he went to bed, but he doesn't want to ask Louis if he knows why.

Louis turns the TV on low, channel-surfing for something in English. He winds up with Zoolander and curls up above the sheets next to Niall. Niall's glad of the excuse to keep his eyes mostly shut and not move very much. 

"Niall," Louis says gently. Niall cracks an eye open.

"Do you remember much of last night?"

"Nah, battleshots did me right in," Niall says. "You sure you're not even a little hungover?"

"Slept through mine already," Louis says. He's got his knees crossed beneath him like a little kid, floating above the white comforter. Niall feels small and pathetic under his gaze. 

Louis clears his throat. "Do you, er, remember talking to me?"

Niall's heart drops into his stomach. 

"Oh God. No. What did we talk about? Jesus, did I say something?" _Oh my God, stop talking,_ he thinks, panic pulsing through his soggy brain. 

"No, no!" Louis says, biting his lip. "You were just… kind of sad. You were a bit short with us, actually." 

"Sorry," Niall groans. "Being punished for it now, aren't I."

"That's alright," Louis says briskly. "I mean… _is_ there something you want to say?"

"No." Niall sits up a little against the headboard, staring down at his hands. "Except I think I can stomach some Advil, now." 

Louis smiles a little. He gets up and fetches it, along with another glass of water. 

"You can't keep it all bottled up, Nialler," he says, settling back in beside Niall on the bed. "It isn't healthy. Let it out, now."

Niall takes his painkillers and drinks the whole glass of water. 

"What did I say to you?" he asks quietly.

Louis frowns. "It didn't make much sense, mind," he says. "But you were talking about, like, not getting to have something you wanted, because it would be better for everyone else that way, or something."

"Oh." It flashes across Niall's brain, then, in horrible slow motion: _that shit isn't fucking fair, that's what's going on_. An image of Louis' face, shrewd and a little wounded. Sitting slumped on the couch not giving a fuck anymore about anything, and now here he is suffering the consequences. Everything is complete and total shit. 

"Something got you messed up, mate?" Louis asks. "Or... like, someone?" 

Niall sinks down into his bed and pulls the covers up, higher and higher, until he's hiding beneath the sheets. He closes his eyes. "I can't tell you," he says, muffled. 

He feels Louis' hand after a moment, resting gently on his leg through the duvet. 

"I'm not gonna judge you, Nialler," he hears Louis say, quieter. "God knows you've listened me talk enough shit about my problems. Least I could do is listen to yours." 

Niall's vulnerable enough to believe, then, that Louis wouldn't judge. But he could still say he doesn't feel the same. It's the root of the fear. It's the reason Niall never wanted him to know.

He can feel Louis' hand still on him, fingers stroking gently, like he's going to hold him here until he tells the truth. 

He can't think of a lie. And he can feel it before he realizes he's about to come clean. He's miserable, ruined, pushed to the frayed, desolate end of this. He's just so fucking tired of pretending. 

He's still hiding, and he doesn't start to tremble until just before he says it.

"It's you." 

Louis' fingers stop moving. Niall's glad he's already under the covers, so he never, ever has to come out. His ears are ringing. 

"I knew it," Louis says.

"I'm sorry," Niall mumbles, throat tight. "I was just – wait, what?"

"Why're you sorry?"

Niall pokes his head out, bright red, feeling a detached sense of surprise that the room and Louis are still there.

Louis is staring at him, completely still.

"Did you say you knew it?" Niall asks again.

"Hangovers aren't contagious, right?" There's color in Louis' cheeks, and Niall doesn't understand what's happening. 

"No, but –"

"Good," Louis says, "just making sure," and he leans over and kisses Niall on the mouth. 

It's quick and chaste and when Niall's lips fall open, just a little and mostly in surprise, it tastes of hangover. It's not the best kiss Niall has ever had. It's just Louis, determined and nervous in one – Niall's Louis, boy Louis, the Louis he loves so fucking much. Louis, kissing him once and pulling back. 

Niall stares as they break apart. Louis is watching his face, and he looks unsure, like he thinks maybe he'd read the situation wrong.

"Louis…?" Niall had meant to say something else, maybe, but it turns out he doesn't know any other words anymore. 

There's a knock at the door. Louis actually gasps. 

"That'll be the food," he says, and he leaps up and disappears out of the room. 

Niall touches his lower lip. It's buzzing. His head is swimming and pounding and full of cotton, and his skin hurts where the air is hitting it, and he's pretty sure that Louis just kissed him. He hasn't kissed someone when he's been sober, except for when he's been planting one on a friend, in a million years. He's never kissed a boy for real at all. 

Louis pushes the cart into the room a minute or two later, still looking sheepish. "Got you a scramble and stuff," he says. "Want tea?"

"Can we, um." Niall swallows thickly. He keeps having to look away from Louis; he's like staring into the sun. _He's mine_ , Niall thinks dazedly, _my Louis_ , and his heart lifts, suddenly, one breathless leap. "Can we back up a moment, here?"

Louis takes his time setting out trays and arranging himself back on the bed beside Niall. Then he turns to him, a grin spreading across his face, shining in the corners of his eyes, in his rosy cheeks. 

"It happened," he confirms. 

"Did you – do you –"

"I like you," he says. The need to kiss him again hits Niall then, quick and bright. "Y'know. Like, that way." He pulls his little sardonic face, making fun of himself for sounding silly. Niall adores him. "And – you like me."

"I do like you," Niall says, dazed. This is really happening. 

"Yeah," Louis says. He pours a cup of tea and hands it to Niall, their fingers brushing. "I've worked that out, now." 

Niall laughs a little, and then more, until it hurts and there are tears in his eyes and he has to stop.

"So it's okay?" he asks, voice breaking. He takes a sip of tea that scalds his throat. 

"Better than okay."

"Should I eat my eggs now?"

Louis laughs. "By all means," he says. "Unless they're gonna make you puke."

"Ugh, don't." Niall's laughing even as his stomach turns. 

"Eat your eggs. _Don't_ look at this delicious cheeseburger I'm about to eat." He smiles, almost shy. "And once you've become human again, maybe I'll give you another kiss."

Niall flushes. He pulls his plate toward him, feeling marginally less queasy, and starts to pick at it. 

They watch the rest of Zoolander and most of Blades of Glory, laughing at all the same jokes. Niall's Advil is starting to kick in, and he can't stop catching Louis' eye. The air in his lungs and in between them is warm and bright, buoying him up. He feels as though he's healing with every passing second. 

"Louis, do you, like – do you like boys?" he asks after a while. The words still make his heart pound, but they come so much easier than he'd thought they would. It's amazing.

Louis studies him. He reaches out and takes Niall's hand, gently, just touching his palm and thumbing at the side of his wrist. "Do you?"

Niall huffs out a laugh. "Yeah," he says. He squeezes Louis' fingers for a moment, trying not to get overwhelmed. "Took me a while to figure it out, you know. But. Yeah, I think I do." 

"Why?"

Niall has to fight to answer through the surge of emotion in his chest. "Dunno if there is a why, y'know?" he says. "It's just, like... I _get_ you. Like, you make sense to me." He tries for a shrug, as though this isn't the most laid-bare he's ever felt. "Suppose maybe it's that simple."

"I like one boy," Louis says. Niall looks down at his lap, smile trembling on his mouth. "I never really seriously thought of it 'til after El was done with me. I was sat all alone in my flat, and I just thought, 'I could really use a cuddle from Niall right now.' That's why I called, you know. I probably wanted to kiss you a hundred times while I was in Mullingar. I was trying to get close to you the whole time I was there, couldn't you tell?"

Niall's grin is wobbling across his face. "I don't know what I thought was going on."

"I didn't know either," Louis says. "I never know what I'm doing." He grins back, uncertain. "So we'll have to see, won't we?"

It scares Niall a little, then, that Louis could be less certain of this than he is, or that he doesn't feel it as much. That maybe he doesn't like boys the way Niall does, or that he'll change his mind, like how Niall was always afraid of doing.

It's a lot to think about with the remnants of this ridiculous hangover still clinging onto his system, and the memory of Louis kissing him. 

But nothing's ever certain. 

Niall looks down at Louis' hand around his. 

He's ready to stop being scared. 

"I think I'm gonna brave the shower," he says. 

"Sure you won't drown?"

"Nah," Niall says, shifting their empty room service plates onto Louis' side and climbing out of bed, wincing as the blood rushes back into limbs that haven't moved much in a while. "Do you… are you just gonna chill here?"

Louis scoffs. "Course I am. I've got a whole milkshake and most of that side of bacon and hashbrowns left to handle, don't I?" 

Niall grins all the way into the bathroom. 

His shower is the most cleansing experience in the history of the universe. It feels like he's physically washing off the grease of the morning and the night before and another, deeper layer, closer to the skin: two months of hiding and worry and despair. He scrubs until he's raw and new, and he can't stop smiling to himself. The happiness hurts almost like the pining did, piercing him in shards every time he realizes it's all actually happening. 

He brushes his teeth and wraps a towel around his waist when he's done, still damp but too lazy to dry off properly. 

Louis is still on the bed when he comes out. He's put all their plates on the floor, and the TV's off, and he's just curled up looking at his phone. He glances up and puts it on the bedside table when Niall shuts the bathroom door behind him. 

"Well, hello," he says, grinning.

"Hey," Niall says in kind, and then he stops short. It's occurred to him that he's in only a towel in a bit of a delicate situation with Louis, now, a new situation, one with – potential. He doesn't know what the boundaries are. 

_Wait a fucking minute_ , he thinks. _What boundaries?_ Since when has he cared about parading around unclothed in the presence of any of his bandmates, including and especially Louis? He feels exhilarated, blissful, like he's been brought back to life. This is the same Louis as ever, the one who kissed him, whom he's completely in love with, who's still in his bed right now.

"Hey," he says again, and he crosses the room in the space of a moment and jumps onto the bed, making Louis bounce.

Louis beams. "I see we're feeling alive ag–"

Niall grabs his face and kisses him before he can finish the sentence. Louis startles under his hands for a moment and then comes alive, hands coming up to cup Niall's jaw and his bare ribcage. He sits up beneath him so that they're on each other's level and he can nip Niall's lower lip, sucking at it, licking into his mouth. Niall doesn't want to stop kissing him for a second, doesn't want to come up for air. His technique is more enthusiasm than anything. He's so happy he brushed his teeth. 

He wants to kiss Louis until Louis a thousand percent okay with this, until any shred of him that feels weird about it is kissed into oblivion. 

Louis pulls back just long enough to kiss down Niall's throat, laughing, raspy. "You're all minty-fresh," he says, scraping his teeth over Niall's skin. Niall gasps, tipping his head back. "And your hair is wet." 

"Louis," Niall gasps. He's back to it being the only word he knows. They're both smiling and kissing and Niall's getting hard under his towel, and that's a bit embarrassing, more so when Louis manhandles him onto his back and kneels over him, pressing his thigh down between Niall's legs. He pushes up and Niall lets out a whimper, lit up with heat beneath his skin.

Louis runs his hands over Niall's chest, grinning as he watches Niall squirm beneath him. "When did you first realize you liked me?" he asks, rubbing a slow, tortuous circle against Niall's nipple. 

"Australia," Niall breathes. "I mean – Sydney." 

Louis shifts back, straddling Niall's thigh. "Nialler," he murmurs. "You should have said something." It makes Niall feel crazy, the ache of that alongside the knowledge that it's okay now, that all the aches before this one led them here. 

"I just didn't know what would happen," he says, breath hitching as Louis' fingers skate over the edge of his towel. There's a crease between Louis' eyebrows, and for a moment he looks impossibly young and out of his depth, trying to figure all of it out. 

Niall knows what that's like. He reaches out and pulls Louis back in and kisses him again, because it's how he can offer comfort now, how they can keep being like they always were. 

Louis settles prone on top of him, rocking his hip up into Niall's erection and making Niall gasp. He clutches at the sides of Louis' face, his shoulders, his hips. His fingers find their way under Louis' sweatshirt, to warm, soft skin, the slight flare of his waist. He tightens his grip and Louis lets him pull them together again, hips rolling. He can feel the hot line of Louis' dick trapped in his sweatpants and he wants at it. 

"Are you gonna take your clothes off?" he asks, breathless, into the corner of Louis' mouth. 

Louis sits back, flushed, his hair everywhere. "Not 'til you take your towel off, mate."

The towel was already in danger of falling off. Niall reaches down and undoes it all the way, slipping it out from beneath his bare hips and throwing it on the floor. 

He stares up at Louis, aware of the way his dick has sprung up against his hip, of his pale, skinny thighs and the blotchy flush he feels in his cheeks down to his chest. 

Louis looks him over, lips parted. "You look good," he murmurs, pressing his fingers into Niall's hipbones, bending to kiss his stomach. 

Niall feels so fucking dirty spread out naked on top of the sheets when Louis is still fully clothed. Now he almost doesn't want him to get undressed, especially not when he's moving lower on Niall's body, kissing his skin as he goes. 

"Can I?" Louis asks. His voice always gets a rasp to it when it's quiet, but this one's got something extra – like he's trying to sound confident and he almost can't. It steals Niall's breath, all these new, secret parts of Louis, all for him.

"Yeah," he says. "God, Louis, anything." 

Louis settles back between his legs, looking at his cock like he's about to have a serious conversation with it. He spits in his palm and wraps his hand around the base, twisting, and Niall almost drops his head back, groaning, it feels so good to have someone else's hand on him – a boy's hand – _Louis'_ hand, of all people. But Niall wants to watch him.

When Louis licks up under the head of his cock, curls his tongue around it and slides his lips down, Niall's not thinking of all the times he imagined this. He's only thinking of Louis, and his soft, hot mouth, the way his eyes slip closed and his eyebrows knit together and he moans, quiet and muffled in the back of his throat, as he slides down further. Niall reaches for Louis' cheek, feeling the bulge of himself there, then touches Louis' hair, gripping it lightly between his fingers. 

Louis makes a little noise and pulls off. There's spit dragging in a string between his bottom lip and the tip of Niall's dick. 

"Jesus fuck, Lou," Niall gets out. 

"Pull my hair," Louis says, wiping his mouth. "I mean – you can, if you want."

"Yeah." Niall tightens his grip. "D'you, like, get off on it?"

"Yeah," Louis murmurs, eyes downcast again, looking sweet and small between Niall's legs. He presses a kiss to the side of Niall's dick, then moans, mouth falling open as Niall tugs at his hair. He slides his lips over Niall's cock again, cheeks hollowing.

"And this?" Niall asks quietly. He gasps, ragged, when Louis swallows him deeper, tongue twisting, a muffled groan in his throat as if in answer. His mouth is going sloppy around Niall's dick as he lets himself be coaxed down further, until his lips meet his hand at the base. Niall can feel Louis' throat working, all that wet heat, can feel every little sound he makes when Niall's fingers grip harder in his hair. 

Niall's head spins when he closes his eyes, tipping his head back and letting it wash over him for a moment, and he knows he won't last if they keep this up. Louis is sucking him off like he means business. Niall doesn't want business. He could be frantic, rushing with Louis to all the things he's been waiting for forever. But there are so many of them. He wants to take his time. 

"Hey," he says, "Louis, Lou, wait up." He pulls a little at the crown of Louis' head until he lifts off and looks up. 

"Is it okay?" He's so pretty, all flushed and wanting to please. Niall loves him like this, loves him every new way he's getting him.

"It's so fucking good," he says, and he almost wants to let Louis keep going for a moment, but then he looks at his mouth, the way his pink lips are swollen and shining, and he has to kiss him. "Come up here." He reaches out and Louis follows, hovering over him again. "Can we… just go slow? Not like – I mean, I wanna do – all of this, right now, but," and he has to curl his fingers into the neck of Louis' sweatshirt, looking for some way to stay grounded, "I want it to last, too." 

Louis brings their mouths together again, his lips parted. "So what you're saying," he mumbles, "is I was gonna make you come just now?" There's a catch of teeth in his grin and he tastes of Niall and it makes Niall shiver and grin, too, and feel like every part of him's alive, like he hasn't been in ages. 

"I'm saying," he says, punctuating it with a nip at Louis' lower lip, "that you need to get your fucking kit off." 

Louis sits back and salutes. "Can do," he says. "Though I'm not much good for a strip tease."

Niall laughs, breathless. "Bet you are, too," he says, then flushes when Louis looks up at him, sharp, his eyes laughing. "I mean it's alright, it's all good." 

Louis pulls his sweatshirt off over his head, ruffling his hair into an even wilder mess across his forehead. He shimmies out of his trackies, and, with a look at Niall, the briefs beneath. Niall's mouth is actually watering at the sight of his thighs, the V of his hips, the delineation of muscle across his chest. He's golden even in the winter. 

When they're both naked, sitting gangly-limbed and a bit apart on top of Niall's sheets, Louis is the first to start laughing. Niall giggles too. He hides his face.

"I can't believe I talked you into this," he says. "You sure you aren't playing a trick on me? Speak now or forever hold your peace." 

"You did not _talk me into it._ " Louis actually sounds affronted. "Niall, hey." He pries Niall's hands away from his face. "We should try, like, not being weird about this, yeah?"

"I'm not being weird," Niall says. "I mean, I'm trying." He takes a deep breath, schooling the slight hysteria from his features. It's still scary how much he wants this, even now that he has it.

Louis squeezes his hands, leaning in until his nose is in Niall's neck. "I know," he says. "Maybe if we don't think about it 'til – 'til after."

His voice sends a rush of heat through Niall's body. Niall realizes then that there's part of him still trying to believe he doesn't get to have this, like that's just instinct after all this time. Fuck that. He shoves at the fear, forcing it to shrink back down, until it's smaller than the two of them together, smaller than Louis kissing his neck and the smell of his hair and the warm spread of his hands on Niall's sides. 

He lets Louis suck at the sensitive skin beneath his jaw while his hands rove over the stretch of Louis' back, fingers pressing in. Louis huffs out a breath in Niall's ear and he realigns himself, slipping a hand beneath Niall's thigh and pulling to make room for himself between his legs. He wraps a hand around Niall's cock, already wet with precome at the tip, and smirks. 

"Eager," he murmurs, smearing the slick down and then palming his dick against Niall's. It makes his hand seem small, the loose circle of his fingers flexing against them both. The hot slide of his cock against Niall's is amazing. Niall hooks their calves together and rolls his hips up, dropping his hands to Louis' hips to pull him in harder. He needs more, feels breathless with it. He palms Louis' arse and lets out a little moan at the feel of it. He's had dreams about this arse. It fits so nicely in his hands, and he squeezes at it. 

"You should touch me," Louis says into his mouth, "like – you can, like, finger me, if you want. I like that." His voice drops as he says it, whether because he's embarrassed or trying to be sexy, Niall doesn't know or care. Louis reaches for Niall's wrist and brings his hand up to his mouth. "Here," he says, and he closes his eyes and sucks two of Niall's fingers in, swirling his tongue around them, getting them sloppy with spit. 

"Jesus, Louis," Niall groans. "That mouth is gonna kill me."

Louis draws off Niall's fingers with a wet noise, licking his lips. "Go on," he says. 

That Louis is asking him for this is making Niall's chest thrill, making his dick twitch against his hip. He reaches back, palming Louis' arse cheek and holding him open.

He rubs his wet fingers over Louis' rim, teasing him and getting a feel for it. Louis has gone all shuddery above him, eyes closed and mouth open, hips pressing back into Niall's touch. 

"Just like that," he breathes. Niall strokes over his taint, then slowly pushes one wet fingertip into him. Louis squirms back, whining.

Niall doesn't have enough slick to finger him as deep as he wants to, so he settles for working both fingers into Louis just to the knuckle, fucking him with shallow strokes. 

"Yeah, Niall," Louis sighs, shaky. "Fuck, I wanna do this to you." His hand had stuttered to a halt, wrapped around his cock and Niall's, but he starts stroking them again and it makes Niall curl closer into him, hips ticking up. 

"You can," Niall says. "Christ. Please." 

He pulls his fingers out and just holds onto Louis' arse, tipping his head up to find his mouth. Louis kisses him open until they're both gasping. 

"Please what?" Louis' voice is a rasp of a whisper. 

"Please..." Niall's heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest. He presses his hands to Louis’ chest, fingers flexing into the skin, and moves to kiss his neck, nose rasping through the stubble under his jaw, and he knows it's a lot to ask, but he can't stop himself. "Want you to fuck me," he murmurs. 

Louis lets them both go and sits back, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?" he says. "D'you -- I mean, I haven't with a boy." He bites his lip. "I will, though."

"Only if you want," Niall says quickly. 

"Yeah," Louis says, "fuck, of course I do. But you gotta tell me how." 

"Not like I've done it either," Niall says, flushing. "But -- think I've watched enough porn to know the basics." 

Louis grins a dirty grin. "That's my boy," he says. He takes a deep breath. It's hot that Niall's making him nervous. Everything about him is so hot. "So… like. How d'you want it?"

Niall's still on his back against the pillows with Louis between his legs. "Like – fuck, I don't know. I wanna see you." He licks his lips. "I could be in your lap," he offers.

"You wanna ride me?" Louis asks, a breathless note of laughter in his voice. "Okay. Jesus. Do you have, like, lube and stuff? Oh – think your knee'll be alright?" He grins.

"If yours will," Niall snickers, poking at Louis' kneecap.

Louis leans down and presses a kiss to the side of Niall's knee, fluttering his fingers behind it so that Niall squirms. "Cripples in love," he murmurs, and it makes Niall's heart swoop so hard he feels faint. 

He reaches out when Louis looks up, his smile wobbling across his face. "We deserve each other," he says, and he kisses Louis again, doesn't rush it, sat up against the headboard in the tangled mess they've already made of the sheets. Niall could kiss him forever. Every way Louis is a boy feels incredible, the flat planes of his muscles and the shape of his waist and the musky smell of him, like hotel sleep and yesterday's joints, all new and thrilling and perfect. He just feels _right,_ and it's so validating that Niall's overwhelmed by it. 

"Wanted this for so long," he whispers against Louis' lips. Louis' eyes stay shut for a moment, his lashes brushing over his cheekbones. He's so gorgeous, and he looks up when Niall tells him so: "Gorgeous, Lou," he murmurs, thumbing at Louis' cheek. Louis' lips are parted and he's flushed everywhere and he's looking at Niall in a way no one ever really has before, like he's the only thing that matters.

He presses another kiss to Niall's mouth and then draws back. "Where's your stuff, love? Condoms and stuff?" 

"I'll get it." Niall springs off the bed, already weak-kneed, and digs through the open suitcase against the wall. He got the lube for himself to use, trying it out with a few fingers in the breathless dark on his own, not because he ever really thought he'd need it for this. Certainly not for Louis.

"Fingers first," he tells him, "and plenty of this." He hands over the lube and a condom, which Louis drops on the bed beside them. He presses himself into Niall's space. 

"I guess just lie on your back for now," he says. He spills some of the lube onto his fingertips, then presses Niall's leg up, palm spread on the back of his thigh. Niall lets his head drop back onto the pillows, breathing shallow and trying to ignore the rapid beating of his heart.

The cold slick of the first finger tracing his rim makes Niall sigh, a little, spreading his hands out against the sheets by his sides. Louis strokes at him and pushes in just to the knuckle. Niall's hips tick down, wanting to feel more. Louis adds more lube and another finger, sucking his lower lip hard into his mouth, looking down at where he's touching Niall. 

"So fucking tight," he mutters. "Was I this tight?" He looks up. 

"You were a bit," Niall says. He's having trouble forming coherent sentences. "Didn't get too far, though. Couldn't without this stuff." He tips his head vaguely at the lube.

"Next time," Louis says. "That feel okay? I'm gonna keep going."

"Yeah," Niall says, "I'm good, I'm so good." 

"You are," Louis says, smiling a little. "I like you like this." He knows what he's doing with his fingers, at least; he presses them in deeper and crooks them around experimentally until he just barely brushes Niall's prostate. Niall moans, sharp, at the shock of sensation, his back arching. Louis does it again, stroking with little flutters of his fingertips, until Niall is gripping the sheets, pushing his hips down and pulling away, mad with the stimulation. 

Louis looks extremely pleased with himself. He draws his fingers out in a slow circle, opening Niall up on them. Niall's panting when his hand is gone, his cock hard against his belly. 

"One more?" Louis asks. 

"God," Niall chokes out. His fantasies of all this are such pale, wispy imitations in comparison to the real thing. Louis squeezes more lube onto his fingers and pushes two back in right away, then fits the third in alongside them. Niall bears down to meet him, huffing out a breath. He feels stretched and hot from the inside out. Louis presses a kiss to the inside of his thigh, brushing his nose over Niall's skin. 

"C'mere," Niall begs. Louis worms his fingers in further as he leans forward for a kiss. Niall grips his hair tight, not even meaning to, just needing something to hold onto as Louis rubs relentlessly at his prostate, making Niall's toes curl.

"Can I fuck you now?" Louis asks into the corner of Niall's mouth. "Fucking hell, Niall." He breathes out a shaky little laugh. "Are you ready, you think?"

"Yeah," Niall says. Louis keeps fucking him with fingers for a moment, sliding them half out and then back in. Niall whimpers. His hand pushes up through Louis' hair until it's proper mussed and Louis is squirming. He slips his fingers from Niall's arse. 

"Your turn," Niall says, crowding into Louis' space until he lies back, facing the wrong way on the bed, and Niall's knelt between his legs.

Niall straddles him carefully at the tops of his thighs. He's aching to touch himself, but he has to wait. He can see the barely-there marks he left on Louis' neck from this angle and he feels a swell of pride. 

"Condom," he murmurs. It feels weird but good to be the one directing all this. Louis gropes for the condom and rolls it onto himself, then slicks himself down with more lube, sighing as he squeezes his cock. Niall wants to do that. The flushed shape of it looks inviting, even in the condom, the way it curves up toward his belly. 

That's something Niall hasn't done enough in all this, had his hands and his mouth on and around Louis' dick. Next time, again. There'll never be enough next times to do all the things he wants to do, but they can try. 

"Okay," Louis says once he's done. "Just go slow, babe." 

"I will," Niall says. Louis seems unsure where to put his hands for a moment and settles for spreading them across Niall's thighs. 

Niall's entire concept of how to do this does come from porn, but he feels like he's on autopilot now as he lifts, his quads straining and the angle awkward but not impossible for his knee. He takes Louis in hand behind himself and holds him steady as he lines up and moves down just enough to feel the blunt press of the head of Louis' cock against his slick rim. He breathes out hard. It's so much bigger than the fingers, fat and swollen and slippery.

Louis is watching him with lidded eyes, his mouth open. Niall sinks down, then harder, until Louis' cock pushes into him. He can't stop a little cry from the back of his throat, because the feeling is so intense, and because it's real: Louis is inside him and this hasn't all turned out to be a dream. 

"Louis," he says. "Fuck, fuck." He chants it under his breath, biting his lower lip. It feels like he's going to break open as he circles his hips, taking Louis deeper, lifting up and pushing back down slow. He's never felt anything like it – like pain but something else, too, the fullness, the burning stretch. It's like being at the edge of coming and feeling like you might never get off it, like you might stay there forever, pushed this far into the feeling.

"God, you're so tight," Louis breathes. His breath comes shaky and he grips Niall's thighs, fingers digging in. "It's so good, Niall."

"Yeah," Niall gasps, "fuck, you feel fucking amazing." 

Louis pushes his hips up a little, like he's testing, and it makes Niall moan, loud. He rolls his hips forward and back, settling downward, his eyes slipping shut. He doesn't open them until he feels Louis' hips beneath him, the heat of his skin flush against Niall's arse. 

They're still for a moment, both breathing hard. 

"Niall," Louis says, low and rough. Niall's eyes flutter open. Every breath he takes is catching in his throat. He loves the line of his own body from this angle, loves seeing Louis spread out beneath him, loves being pinned on his cock. Niall can touch him everywhere while he rides him, touch all his tattoos, can kiss him, feel his hands. 

"Babe," Louis murmurs, and he shifts so he can pull Niall in with his hands around the small of his back. Niall keeps him inside as he leans forward, shoving his hips back and moaning again. "Shh," Louis says. He's gathered Niall all up now, one hand in his hair, his body half-propped up on an elbow. "Kiss me," he whispers, barely any sound to it, because Niall's lips are already on his. 

He kisses Louis like one of them will disappear if he stops, and he can feel Louis' hips bucking up beneath him, trying to find a rhythm, pushing in deep. Niall rocks back and forth to meet him, holding onto Louis' shoulders. He's making sounds he's never heard himself make, moaning so loud he's almost shouting every time he meets one of Louis' thrusts. He feels wrecked already, his muscles burning, his whole body on fire with the way Louis is nailing his prostate, with the way when Niall sits up and lifts almost all the way off, Louis kisses his chest, the hollow of his throat, his stubbly chin rasping over Niall's skin before Niall sinks back down. 

"Fuck, you're gonna make me come so fast like this," Louis mumbles into Niall's shoulder. "Can I touch you?" He stares up at Niall, the pink flush bright and hectic across his cheeks.

"Don't need to ask me," Niall says, breathless. 

"I want you to come first." Louis runs his thumb over the wet head of Niall's cock, stiff and pink between them. "Lemme feel it while I'm in you, yeah?"

Niall nods. He can't speak, panting on every push in. He wants to come so badly, even though he doesn't want this to end. He feels like he's been close since the moment he got Louis inside him. 

Louis wraps his fingers around Niall's cock, just squeezing in time with how Niall's riding him, twisting his wrist. Niall's thighs are shaking. He throws an arm around Louis' shoulders, bouncing in his lap. It feels so fucking good to make Louis tremble beneath him, to know how his hips are probably pressing bruises into Niall's arse. 

"So fucking perfect, Nialler," Louis gasps. He sounds like he's close. Niall wants to come for him first, wants to give him that. 

Louis starts to jack him properly, then, attaching his lips to Niall's neck so Niall has to slow a bit, rolling his hips forward and back instead of pistoning up and down. It's getting near impossible to keep a rhythm with his orgasm building in him, though, all the heat and fullness inside focusing into a burning point, threatening to send him over the edge. He's seeing stars, and he shuts his eyes tight as Louis kisses his jaw, bites his lower lip, and he cries out, almost sobs Louis' name, as he comes over Louis' fist. 

He shudders through it, arse clenching around Louis' dick, his breath coming in long whines until it's over. He hears Louis moaning, distantly, but he can't move for a long moment after. His face is buried in Louis' neck, and it's such a safe place, a place to be boneless and spent and fucked-out.

"You okay?" Louis asks, strained. 

"Yeah," Niall breathes, "will be." His come is splashed on both their bellies, and he traces a fingertip through it for a moment before lifting up again. Sparks shoot up his quads. He sinks back down slow onto Louis' cock, rolling his hips in a slow circle, trying to make it good for him. 

"Fuck," Louis chokes out. He throws his head back, propped on one hand, letting Niall do the work now. Niall blinks his eyes open for the first time since he came. He takes in the kiss-mottled line of Louis' throat, his open mouth, the little line pinched between his eyebrows. He's so insanely pretty.

Louis' fingers are clenching in the sheets, and finally he grabs Niall's hips and works him onto his own cock, like he can't help himself. Niall's glad of the extra push. He kisses Louis' mouth, kisses up his cheek and along the shell of his ear, eyelashes ghosting over his skin. He's aching everywhere, feels like he's glowing with it. His fingers slide into Louis' hair.

"C'mon," he whispers, "I've got you, wanna see you, c'mon." Louis whimpers, shaking and clutching at him, and then he's driving his hips all the way up as he comes.

He stills with his nose against Niall's collarbone, head bent almost reverently, his hands around Niall's sides. It takes a long time for his breathing to level out, and finally he lifts his head. 

"Holy shit, Niall," he says, grinning weakly. Niall starts to laugh. He lifts up, holding Louis' dick behind him to keep the condom on. His arsehole clenches around nothing when he's off. He wasn't expecting that, the different kind of ache that comes with the emptiness. It makes him want to cuddle close to Louis right away, to wrap around him and keep him in bed all day. 

Louis ties the condom off and deposits it on an empty plate on the floor that once contained chips. Niall snickers.

"Fucking gross, man."

"I'll deal with it later," Louis says. "There's literally nothing I can think of doing right now that would make me want to get out of bed." 

"Me neither," Niall sighs. He's sitting beside Louis near the foot of the bed, legs tucked under him, unsure what happens now. Louis looks over and rolls his eyes, unmistakably fond. 

"Stop being silly and come cuddle," he says, sitting up with a groan. He grabs Niall's towel from the floor and dunks it in a glass of water, leaning over to swipe it across Niall's belly where his come is drying. 

Niall hisses. "Cold."

"I'm taking care of you," Louis tells him. His tone is joking, like, _so shut up and take it, Neil_ , but it makes Niall feel stupidly warm and safe anyway. Louis cleans himself up, too, then settles up against the pillows. He holds his arms out. 

"C'mon."

Niall crawls to him, tucking his feet under the rumpled sheets and himself along Louis' side, under his arm. He puts his head and a hand on Louis' chest. They've cuddled like this plenty before, except this time they're both naked and they just had sex. It's a nice change for Niall not to be quite so hyper-aware of his own breathing, of the ways he's touching Louis, wondering if they're okay.

"I hope that wasn't too much," Niall says into the quiet.

"Nah," Louis says. "Quite liked it, if you couldn't tell. You made it good."

Niall grins. "I'm really, really happy right now," he says after a moment.

"I know you are," Louis murmurs. Niall can't see his face, but he can tell he's smiling. 

After a moment, Louis goes, "Me too." It makes it better, somehow, that he sounds like he thought about it, really decided it was true, and then said it out loud. It makes Niall believe him. 

He shifts so he can see Louis' face, fingers curling against the blocky 78 tattooed on his chest. Louis leans down before Niall gets the chance to close the space between them. His mouth on Niall's is soft and and warm and sleepy, and this still feels new, but it's comfortable anyway, easy and unhurried. Niall likes the lack of urgency. It's the sort that comes when something isn't planning to end anytime soon. 

"What now?" Louis asks softly when they break apart. His arm is still around Niall's shoulders, and he slides his hand into his hair, stroking absently. 

"Well," Niall says, "we could sleep. I could definitely sleep. We could watch another film. We could eat more. We could keep on making out." He grins. "I mean – that's if you want to stay."

Louis scoffs. "I am not going to dignify that with a response," he says, reaching over and pinching Niall's nipple. Niall twists in his arms, groaning. Louis holds him tighter. "But, like – after that, I mean?"

"Oh, jeez. Like -- big picture, or whatever, you mean?" Louis nods. "I dunno." Niall chews on his lower lip, which is slick and oversensitive from kissing. "I dunno if I'm ready to tell other people. I think I will be. Just – still kind of new, y'know."

"Yeah, of course," Louis says. "I'm, like – I've got to figure this out too, I guess." He shrugs. It really hits Niall for the first time, then, how much courage it took for Louis to come to him, to do all this. They've both been brave.

"Together." Niall's determined to say it before he can reconsider. "We'll figure it out together." 

Louis looks down at him. "That'd be nice," he murmurs. 

"So…" Niall grins in spite of himself. "That means this can happen again, though?"

Louis gives a shout of laughter that makes Niall feel warm all over. "Yeah, Nialler." He kisses the top of Niall's head, then his temple and the corner of his mouth, pulling him close. "It definitely can." 

*

The others don't seem remember Niall's fleeting bad mood later on, or else don't care to investigate why it's lifted, but either way everything feels fine. Better than, actually. There had been a moment before they left the sanctuary of his hotel room where Niall was worried he wouldn't be able to act normal around Louis after this. But it turns out that their new normal is about the same as before Niall went a little mad, just with secret kissing and no more second-guessing.

They're down in the hotel's car park all fucking around before they have to go to the airport that night, Zayn on his skateboard, Harry and Liam trying to trip him up. Louis is sat on the bonnet of one of their cars. He's produced a football from nowhere, as is his way, and he's tossing it to himself. 

"Look alive, Nialler!" he yells, voice echoing. He chucks the ball at Niall with both hands. Niall catches it in the chest, bouncing it back toward Louis. 

"Get down and have a proper go," he says, flushed and grinning. He keeps checking himself with shit like this, making sure he's not being obvious, but then he remembers that it's how he always is with Louis. It's nothing out of the ordinary for him to laugh at all his jokes or constantly smile in his presence. 

Nor is it out of the ordinary for Louis to single him out for attention in the midst of everybody, even if he's turning away halfway through their ensuing kick-about to abscond with Zayn's stray skateboard, dashing off, cackling. Niall stands there with one foot on the ball, smiling after Louis as Paul gives chase. 

The only difference now is that Louis trips over his own feet a little when he turns back to grin at Niall, and Niall knows it's not a throwaway. It's not complicated, either, but that's what he loves best about them: that they can be mates like this, and then Louis will text him after, when they're stuck in separate cars, _Can't wait to kiss you like a million times later ;)_. Niall grins and sends him back every kissy emoji in the book. They can have it both ways.

They're on a red-eye flight that night and almost everyone's asleep by the time Louis shuffles over to Niall's seat. Niall's dozing under a blanket, but he wakes, blinking, when Louis drops into the empty chair beside him. 

Louis tucks his socked feet beneath him and lifts the armrest so he can cuddle up to Niall's side. "Hi," he whispers. "Didn't mean to wake you up." 

"S'okay," Niall whispers back. "Are you staying?" His eyes are heavy and dry, even as he tries to keep them open to look at Louis' face. 

Louis nods. "Go back to sleep, love." He glances back at the dark, empty aisle and everyone around them snoring lightly, and then he leans in and kisses Niall on the corner of his mouth. He tugs half of Niall's blanket over himself and puts his head on Niall's shoulder, closing his eyes. 

Niall's still sleepy, but he stays awake a while longer, blinking down at Louis. Eventually he stops trying to bite back his smile.


End file.
